


Camelot is in Chaotic Hands

by dead_succulent



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic, Aromantic Merlin (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bi Gwen (Merlin), Canon-Typical Violence, Chaotic Merlin, Druids, Episode: s01e03 The Mark of Nimueh, Explicit Language, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gaius is pan and poly, Gay Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Lesbian Morgana (Merlin), Magic Revealed, Merlin but gayer, Merlin fucks around in the woods, Merlin is aro, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Tags May Change, Trans Character, Trans Lancelot (Merlin), Treason, characters say fuck, consider this a rough draft, merlin meets the druids, my fic my rules, no one can stop me, romance will not be a focus because i am aro, s1 ep3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 50,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dead_succulent/pseuds/dead_succulent
Summary: When Merlin barges into the council chamber to declare himself a sorcerer and save Gwen from execution, no one believes him. So he does magic, obviously. Now, he needs to fulfill his gods-be-damned destiny while roughing it in the woods. But first, he needs to figure out what's poisoning the water.What follows is a mess of treason, underground sorcerer societies in the heart of Camelot, DIY home construction, faeries, talking Griphons, and all the joy I think the characters deserved just for existing. And some angst. Just a little bit.Splits from season 1 episode 3 of the series ("The Mark of Nimweh")
Relationships: Background romance only - Relationship, Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Lancelot (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 302
Kudos: 223





	1. Oops

Arthur had to admit, he was not convinced Gwen was the sorcerer who had cast the plague. He also was not convinced that she should burn for saving her father from death. And he sure as hell was not convinced that she had saved her father to start with, but he refused to think of anyone else who would want to spare her the grief of losing her family. After all, if she had the power to save her father, why would she have waited so long? Why would she have waited until so many people knew her father was sick and had already expressed their condolences? Especially since she worked in the castle. He was not convinced of anything, but if there was one thing he was even less sure about, it was how to save Gwen—did he really want to save Gwen? Arthur wasn’t sure she was not a sorcerer, either—without committing treason.  
Arthur was not used to being unsure, and he was not used to comforting a sobbing Morgana either. He also was not used to planning a way to not-commit-treason, but he was used to being stubborn as fuck and occasionally lucky (he had been luckier than usual lately, which he refused to think about too hard), and goddamnit there had to be something he could do. 

***

Merlin, the handsome, stupid fuck, decided to save Arthur the trouble of not-saving-Gwen. He burst into the room, panting, eyes ablaze, skin flushed with adrenaline (stop starving so obviously you fool) and excitement. 

“She’s innocent! I’m the sorcerer—I’m the one who put the poultice under her father’s pillow.” (how did—had Arthur told Merlin where the poultice was found?) 

“Don’t be a fool Merlin! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gaius’ voice registered somewhere in Arthur’s brain. 

All those things Arthur refused to think about started crowding his thoughts (why wasn’t he covered in cobwebs?) “Merlin isn’t a sorcerer, father,” (why had the chandelier fallen on the witch?) “like Gaius said, he’s got a severe…. mental… ailment…” (how had Merlin found out about the snakes, anyway?) “Merlin is… he’s in love with Gwen” (the snakes had come out in the perfect moment, too, not close enough to bite him, but still in clear view of everyone) “Merlin is a wonder, yes,” (not only had that saved Arthur’s life, it had cleared cowardice from his name, too) “but the wonder is that he is such an idiot.” 

Arthur felt Merlin sigh next to him, felt him hunch a little bit. Merlin glanced up and mouthed ‘sorry’ (wait, sorry?)

Merlin was not under his arm anymore. 

“I am a sorcerer and I did put that poultice under that FUCKING PILLOW!” he raised his arms up and forward, and Arthur was either losing touch with reality or Merlin’s eyes had just flashed gold, and the doors—which had been hanging open after Merlin’s entrance—slammed shut, and all the plates, goblets, and papers on the table flew into the air, and his eyes flashed gold again and all the weapons in the room clattered to the floor (thinking his eyes were beautiful when they were gold was definitely treasonous). “Guinevere is innocent.” 

The shocked silence in the room did not last long, but Arthur thought he saw pride, fear, and sadness flash across Gaius’ face before it fell into a look of shock. 

“GUARDS!” Uther yelled, “ARREST THE SORCERER!”

Merlin was still standing surprisingly close to Arthur, and Arthur felt surprisingly unafraid, but stepped away from him just to be sure. He also clasped his arms behind his back. Just to be safe. Merlin frowned slightly when the cold iron cuffs clamped around his wrists, but he did not look afraid. 

“Make sure to gag the sorcerer. Even the most powerful of sorcerers need to use incantations in the presence of iron. We’ll leave him dumb and helpless until he burns,” he hesitated, “and release the girl.” 

_“I could take you apart in one blow.” ___

_“I could take you apart in less than that.” ___

____***_ _ _ _

____Merlin sat in the dungeons, gagged, chained, and rather uncomfortable. He supposed he had overdone it a bit with the display of magic, but he couldn't help it. He was pissed, and he wanted to see just how much he could move without using any spells or incantations. He got the feeling he could have done even more but didn't want to push it too far—well, not any further than he already had. He had made his point, that was for sure._ _ _ _

____The Dragon was probably going to be pissed; he doubted this is what the Dragon had imagined when he had talked about _“destiny.” _Really, though, Merlin had only been in Camelot for a little over a month and he’d heard about his damn destiny almost as many times as Arthur had called him an idiot, which was really a bit too much. How the fuck did the Dragon know, anyway? The winged shit probably hadn’t left his cave since Uther threw him in there.___ _ _ _

______Anyway, it’s not like he planned on burning at the stake. Dungeon doors were easy enough to unlock, even if they were made of iron. Merlin had already locked and unlocked the door to check; it was harder to do than usual, especially with the shackles around his wrists and ankles (which he had also unlocked and relocked already), but it was far from impossible. It was more like being a toddler again, when he actually had to think a bit to make things fly around. He supposed it was just more of his freakishness, even for a sorcerer._ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin shifted around, wondering if anyone would notice if he broke out of the shackles and stretched for a bit. He didn’t want to escape quite yet, but if he was caught, he could just run early. He was about to find out how much the guards paid attention when Gaius shuffled into view with a plate of food._ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin grinned through the gag and raised his eyebrows at the old man._ _ _ _ _ _

______“They didn’t want to keep an old man from serving one last meal to his son.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin’s could feel the dampness in his eyes and did his best to blink it away; his soft smile was a lot clumsier and messier than his grin from a few seconds ago, but more genuine._ _ _ _ _ _

______Gaius pushed the food as far into the cell as he could get it, a few inches away from Merlin’s ankle. “How could you be so stupid, boy? You’ve saved Gwen, and her father, but at what cost? You’ll burn at the stake tomorrow and the curse on the water still won’t be broken.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin rolled his eyes, unlocked his wrists, and pulled his gag down. “I don’t plan on burning, Gaius.” He took a hungry bite of the apple. “I couldn’t let Gwen burn either, could I? Not when I was the idiot who got her in trouble the first place.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______If Gaius was surprised Merlin could do magic while under iron, he didn’t show it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It was very noble of you, Merlin. But what about Arthur? What about your destiny?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin rolled his eyes again and took a bite of some cheese. Gaius was pimping out for him with this meal. “First, I’m rather tired of hearing about my destiny. How the fuck is anyone supposed to know what exactly it is and how exactly it’s going to play out? If it’s unavoidable, then it’s going to happen no matter what I do. And if it’s up to me, in any capacity, then I’ll do as I see fit and hope for the best outcome.”  
Gaius looked about to interrupt, but Merlin didn’t let him, “ah-ah! I don’t plan on dying or letting the poison water keep killing people.” The guards still looked distracted, but Merlin lowered his voice to be safe, “I know you have more books than the one you’ve given me. Leave them, any you can spare, under the loose floorboard in my room and I’ll collect them tonight. I get the feeling I’ll need them if I want to keep Arthur alive.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Gaius managed to look unconvinced and proud at the same time. “Alright, I see that arguing with you will have little use,” he glanced at the guards and leaned a little closer, “I would recommend checking the underground wells that supply the town.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin grinned, pushed the plate of food back to Gaius, bit back down on the gag and gave Gaius a clanky thumbs up._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin had to admit, the shackles were rather helpful in staying awake. He wondered if it was late enough for him to break out yet; being imprisoned was boring and his wrists were getting really sore. He had spent the afternoon watching the pyre being built, and even though he had every intention of escaping and surviving, he felt his stomach go cold at the thought of being tied to that stake._ _ _ _ _ _

______He was glad he had waited before escaping, though, especially once he saw Gwen escorted out of the dungeons. She had seemed confused when their eyes met, but she had mouthed a ‘thank you’ on her way out.  
Merlin sighed and rested his head against the wall when he heard footsteps approaching; if the guards were still pacing, he’d probably have to wait a few more hours before breaking out. _ _ _ _ _ _

______The footsteps stopped outside his cell, but he didn’t open his eyes. If the guard thought he was asleep maybe he wouldn’t talk to him._ _ _ _ _ _

______“…Merlin?” Arthur’s soft voice drifted into the cell. Merlin hesitated, not sure if he should open his eyes or not._ _ _ _ _ _

______He must have waited too long to decide. “The ass doesn’t look like magic.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin couldn’t help it; he snorted and looked up, meeting Arthur’s eyes. He didn’t know if it was the fate bullshit, but he could read Arthur surprisingly well, and right now, the prince looked like he was confused and upset, and had been all day._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You were awake,” he said._ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin shrugged and nodded; he couldn’t let Arthur know he could break himself out, which meant leaving the gag in and leaving all the talking to Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I…” Arthur cleared his throat “is magic how you saved me, the night my father assigned you as my manservant?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin nodded, surprised Arthur had made the connection to a month ago._ _ _ _ _ _

______“And the snakes in the shield?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin nodded again. The prince had noticed more than he’d given him credit for._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Did you poison the water?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______There wasn’t much conviction behind the question, but Merlin still answered by shaking his head._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur nodded and sat down, frowning. Merlin watched him, wondering what he was thinking. He had noticed some of the long looks the prince had thrown his way, and how quick he was to defend him when Merlin had burst into the royal strategy room. He knew that, despite his arrogance and occasional callousness, the Prince treated the servants better than anyone else other than Morgana. But he also knew the iron fist Uther ruled with, and the respect Arthur still had for his father. He knew Arthur didn’t know anything other than the Camelot Uther had created, never heard anything but his father’s stories about magic. He really didn’t know what to expect from the prince now that he had come out as a sorcerer._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur dropped his head into his hands and sighed, “I don’t want to see you burn.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He had to admit, vulnerability was not what he expected from the prince in a moment like this. Arthur was shit at vulnerability and seemed to be vulnerable by accident most of the time. The few times Merlin had seen him say something genuine, Arthur had been quick to throw his arrogance up like a shield and change the conversation topic. Not this time, though: Arthur was looking directly at Merlin._ _ _ _ _ _

______It was hard to smile with a gag in, especially now that Merlin’s mouth was rather sore, so he did his best to reassure Arthur with his eyes. He could hear the unspoken message in what he had said. He didn’t want Merlin dead, but he couldn’t go against his father; not yet, not about magic, not even if Merlin’s life was on the line._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur shifted forward a bit, placing a hand on the cold iron bars. “I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin could see it very clearly, now, what the Dragon was talking about. He could see, under the right circumstances, Arthur learning and growing, taking over from his father and being a just king, eventually repealing the laws that forbade magic. But right now, he was confused, and hurt, and he still believed—or felt forced to believe—that magic was wrong. It was supposed to be, it was what he had always been told, and he’d never been given much reason to doubt it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Merlin leaned forwards as far as he could and managed to touch his fingertips to Arthur’s hand, hoping to reassure him just a little. Their eyes met and Merlin nodded once, trying to say it’s okay, I forgive you; he wasn’t sure if Arthur understood, but he did nod back once before getting up and leaving._ _ _ _ _ _

______Watching the prince leave, Merlin noticed the slumped form of one of the guards by the dungeon door, and the way Arthur didn’t stop to admonish him for sleeping on the job. Maybe Arthur had just wanted this conversation to be private—Uther wouldn’t have appreciated it, and they both knew that—and if the guards were as knocked out as they looked, Merlin was sure that that was how Arthur had justified his decision. But that didn’t change the fact that it gave Merlin the perfect escape opportunity._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Just because he and his mother had operated a small farm didn’t mean Merlin knew how to fuck around in the woods very effectively. He was incredibly grateful that Gaius had some more forethought than him and his, apparently, single brain cell. Not only had the old man left him a stack of magical books, he had also left food, and a small collection of vials, herbs, and a basic physician’s journal for Merlin to work with and learn from._ _ _ _ _ _

______He was incredibly excited to get deep into the books, but he needed to get back to Camelot and check the underground water supply as fast as he could. He needed some way to disguise himself first, though; he was sure Uther was livid about his escape, since not only had he lost the opportunity to execute yet another sorcerer, this particular sorcerer was the one he blamed the bad water on. Merlin was sure there were already patrols out looking for him. He was deep enough in the woods, he hoped, that they wouldn’t find him while he looked for a spell to help disguise himself._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur heard news of Merlin’s escape early the next morning, just as the sun had begun to rise. He tried not to be too glad._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______There were several incantation’s in Gaius’ books for disguising oneself, but they were all rather complicated, and Merlin didn’t have very good control of his incantations yet. His magic seemed to want to reinterpret the commands woven into the spells, which had led to more than once unfortunate event late at night when he’d practice instead of sleeping. He figured he could practice more openly and effectively now that he was an outcast in the woods _(god that reality hadn’t really hit yet) _but right now, he didn’t have the time. Instead, he had opted for a diversion spell. People wouldn’t look at him too closely and would quickly get distracted and forget about him. It wasn’t infallible, of course, but it was the best he could do on short notice. He had a few more hours until sunset, so Merlin got started on making as many healing poultices as he could while he waited.___ _ _ _ _ _

________***_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sneaking into Camelot was surprisingly easy. The spell only lasted two hours, but Merlin could recast it quite easily if he had to. He made his way to the entrance of the undergrown cave system which held most of Camelot’s water supply. It was… creepy, to say the least, he thought, murmuring the incantation for a magical glowing orb to accompany him. He wished he had a torch; the blue light was much eerier than the fire’s warm glow, even if it was more stable. He found the central chamber, where the water was held behind a small stone damn. Pulling out one of the vials Gaius had given him, he walked up do the dark pool of water. He hesitated a second before plunging his hand in, pulling it out as soon as he felt the vial fill. Something felt very… wrong, with the water. He turned to leave, planning on taking the water to Gaius (reckless, but he didn’t know enough yet to test the water himself) when he heard a splash and a roar from behind him. Startled, he whipped around in time to see a gross, muddy looking creature submerge itself back into the water supply. He got out of there as quickly as he could._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Bad Constructions and Gay Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is slowly and clumsily figuring out how to live in the woods. Morgana calls Arthur out on his bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not get used to these writing speeds, it is a fluke. Enjoy while you can, though.
> 
> I’m so off on my medieval vocabulary. Peasant? Commoner? Village resident? Like what do I use? What doesn’t sound rude in-context?

Merlin only just managed not to run through Camelot as he made his way to Gaius’ quarters. Running would call attention, even with the distraction spell, and he really didn’t need that. Still, his heartbeat rang in his ears as he made his way into his mentor’s quarters.

“Gaius,” he said, laying a hand on the old man, “Gaius, wake up!”

Gaius made a small noise and sat up. “Merlin? For gods’ sakes, boy, what _are_ you doing here! Do you want to be executed that badly?”

“I’ve got a distraction spell on myself Gaius; I needed you help examining the water sample.” He magicked a stool over and sat down. “But I think I have a fair idea of what’s poisoning the water.”

“You do?” The infamous eyebrow quirked up slightly, “pray tell.” 

“It was disgusting, and looked like mud, or flesh. I only saw it for a moment, but it was definitely magical.” 

Gaius thought for a moment and sighed, “well, Merlin, you’ve got my best bestiary. I’ll look through the books I’ve kept, but you can’t stay here long, boy. My chambers are never guaranteed to stay private.” 

“I know Gaius, just give me a minute. I can’t exactly visit you every night in the hopes that you found something; we need a way to communicate.” Merlin dropped his head into his hands and mumbled as he ran through the spells he’d read in the afternoon. “I’ve got it! Do you have two matching objects? Ideally something you don’t touch on a regular basis.” 

Gaius pulled a pair of pearl earrings from a chest underneath his bed. “I was going to give these to Tenn on their birthday, but I’ve got time to find a new gift. What enchantment do you have in mind?”

“A one-way stone.” Merlin cupped each earring in a loose fist and mumbled the first half of the incantation; he then passed one of the earrings to Gaius and finished the spell. “That should work. Hold it and say my name.”

Gaius did, and Merlin’s earring glowed. 

Merlin couldn’t help cheek-aching grin on his face. He had never practiced any spells before arriving in Camelot and was still amazed at all the new things he could accomplish with his magic. “My earring will glow no matter how far away I am; use this if you ever need me to come, or if you find something about the water. I won’t be able to signal you back—it would be too dangerous for you anyway—but I can always sneak back into Camelot if I need to see you. It wasn’t very hard.” He handed Gaius the vial of water and got up to leave.

“Merlin…” 

Merlin turned and, seeing his uncle’s concerned face, enveloped him in a hug. “I’m sorry things turned out this way, Gaius, truly.”

“And I’m sorry you had to make such an impossible decision, Merlin. You’re so young, to be responsible for so much. Please, take care of yourself.”

Instead of leaving Camelot as quickly as possible, which would have been by far the smarter decision, Merlin made a good dozen stops on his way out. He only had material for so many poultices, but he’d eat a dragon’s ass before he let more people die. Now that his sorcery was known, the blame would go to him once people found themselves magically healed. He snuck poultices under doorsteps and on window frames near bedposts; less effective than directly in a victim’s pillow, but capable of protecting the whole household. Merlin only left the citadel once he was out of poultices, wishing he could have helped more people. 

***

Merlin woke up early the next morning feeling rather itchy and brushing leaves out of his hair. He had been too tired to set up a proper camp when he returned and hadn’t even bothered to lay a blanket down to sleep on. He got up and stretched, grimacing but satisfied with the popping as he cracked his back. He had a lot to do today, so he decided to be glad that the relative discomfort of his sleeping arrangements and his still ingrained early morning servant habits had woken him up with the sun. No, he wasn’t irritated at all. 

He ate some bread as he packed his _(scattered mess)_ camp. He was too close to Camelot to properly settle there, and he had already run risk by staying as long as he had. Stopping to think for a moment, Merlin considered what he knew about Camelot’s terrain and the King’s persecution methods. Uther most likely thought Merlin would escape Camelot all together, probably to join his enemies and usurp his throne _(which suited Merlin just fine, let the fucker be scared)_. The knights would probably account for that in their search of him. Merlin scanned the sky and settled on walking up hill, roughly South of the citadel. It would take him further both from Camelot’s allies and enemies, and the forest in that direction was dense and provided good cover. It had the added benefit of letting Merlin watch the citadel from a distance. He sighed. Fugitive or not, he had no doubt there would be little rest for him between magical attacks to the place. How had they survived in the years before Merlin arrived? Probably something to do with his blasted destiny again. 

His going was slow, since he stopped to collect any herb he recognized on the way. Some of them were medicinal, and many of them he had seen mentioned in the potions book Gaius had given him. He was particularly excited about that book; potions were too obviously sorcerous to be practiced in Gaius’ chambers, so Merlin had never brewed one. Roughing it seemed to have some benefits, at least. 

A lot of sweat, but only about an hour later, Merlin heard the gurgle of a stream. He changed direction slightly _(because how stupid would it be to die of thirst)_ and followed it upstream until it led to a clearing facing Camelot. It was… disgustingly perfect for his purpose. The clearing ended in a sharp drop facing the citadel, which he had managed to walk around when following the stream, and would keep him hidden from anyone walking uphill. The clearing was also large enough that he could camp on the far side if he needed to, helping to hide him from view of anyone looking in his direction from Camelot. He was high enough up, though, that he didn’t think he needed to worry about that. 

He sighed and dropped his bags, collapsing in the grass. He was a few hours from Camelot, and a horse would have trouble weaving its way through the woods without a path. Safe and defensible, but not too far from Camelot. Far enough to be a pain in Merlin’s ass, he was sure, but not too far. Merlin frowned as he watched the clouds quickly drift by, his hair ruffling in the wind. The sky was clear, but a wind like that could bring a storm in quickly enough. He had hoped to read through the bestiary as soon as he had found a safe place, but he couldn’t risk letting his books get wet. Ideally, he wouldn’t get wet either, but the books were the bigger concern at the moment. 

He groaned loudly and got to his feet. He supposed he would need… sticks? And maybe some leaves. 

An hour later, Merlin was again sitting, this time staring at a pile of decently straight branches. Bless the rotten goblins he knew a spell to get the bark off, because that would have taken forever with a knife. He should make something, uh, something triangular, he supposed _(because water runs downhill—very smart)_ to help keep the books dry. He could put two of the sticks down vertically, and tie one across them. Then he’d lean the rest on the horizontal stick, creating a small… structure. Way too small for him, but large enough for the book bag. Simple enough?

Simple only in theory, Merlin found out. It took at least another hour, several creative swears and nicked hands later, but he had managed to build a shelter. A shelter that wasn’t actually waterproof. Great Dragon’s bad breath _how_ would he make it waterproof? Leaves were stupid, that much was obvious to him now. Full of bugs (and too small). He sighed, heavily, and picked up the leather sleeping mat packed with his things. He had been looking forward to sleeping on it tonight. Laying it over the diagonal sticks, Merlin tucked its edges into the structure to keep it in place. That should work to keep the rain out as long as winds didn’t push the water horizontally into the structure. He grabbed the bestiary and hung the rest of the books on one of the leaning branches, safely off the ground. He had to admit, he was rather proud of himself. 

***

Arthur paced the lower town, scouting for Merlin. He had gone out with the knights the day before in search of him, with no luck. Today, his father had tasked him with searching the lower town for any peasants who looked like sympathizers and might be harboring the filthy sorcerer. Arthur suspected he knew who looked like sympathizers to his father, and decided the most pragmatic way to search would be to search every dwelling. 

“Fan out and search the houses on this block,” he told the assembled soldiers, “but do so respectfully. If there are any sympathizers in the area, we don’t want to give them further fuel to their reasoning. We also don’t want to cause a panic among those who don’t know there is a sorcerer on the loose.” 

As his troupe fanned out, knocking on doors instead of their usual, Arthur scanned the assembled crowd. They seemed to be in higher spirits than the previous days; perhaps news of Merlin’s escape hadn’t reached this part of town yet, and they expected the apprehension of a sorcerer to purify the poisoned water. 

“Excuse me, my lord,” a middle-aged resident of the town curtsied to him, “if I may—are the rumors true?”

“What rumors, ma’am?” 

The resident hesitated, “I often work in the palace kitchens, and there have been rumors that Mer—that the sorcerer escaped?” 

She must have known him. “The rumors are true, unfortunately. If you knew him, you mustn’t let your previous impression of him cloud your judgement” _(rich, coming from you)_ “he is a sorcerer, and he deceived us all. Do you have any information that might help us find him?” 

“I knew _of_ him more than I knew him, my lord. All I can say is he lived in Ealdor before he moved to Camelot.”

Arthur nodded, having already known that. “There is a handsome reward for any who assist in his capture. If you hear of anything, you are welcome to report to me personally, or to any under my command.”   
“It would be an honor, my lord.”

Arthur walked away, hoping to find someone who might know more. He’d forgotten that, being a servant, Merlin would probably be familiar with many who worked at the castle, and he was bound to have friends other than Gwen. Behind him, the villager frowned, worrying their lip. 

***

Arthur’s chamber door slammed opened and shut again. 

“Arthur, you can’t possibly be planning to arrest him.” 

“He is a sorcerer, Morgana. You know the law.” (you knew it too, when you went to see him)

“He _saved Gwen’s life, Arhtur!_ In that one moment he showed more compassion than any man I know, and you would kill him for it?” Her voice shook slightly, but her fists were clenched. “Even you were willing to let her burn.” 

“I—” he hesitated, “I wasn’t going to let her burn, Morgana. I didn’t want to. _He_ took care of that before I could think of anything, though.”

“And yet here you are, heading the hunt for him. Wasn’t he your friend?” 

“Merlin, he—” (he _was_ my friend) “I don’t—” (I wanted—) “I don’t know, Morgana. He was rude and insensitive, and he seemed loyal, but we only knew him for a month! Even cruel people are capable of an occasional kindness.” 

“As your father has proven many times.” Morgana raised her chin, “Wasn’t he appointed your manservant for _saving your life?_ ”

“Likely with magic,” he grumbled.

Morgana startled. “Magic? Arthur, if he used magic to _save_ you before he even _knew_ you, and you still want him killed, you are a worse man than I could have ever imagined.” She paced closer. “Saving a stranger and the son of the man responsible for killing your entire kind doesn’t sound like the actions of a cruel man only capable of _‘an occasional kindness.’_ ”

Arthur collapsed back into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know, Morgana. I don’t KNOW! I haven’t known a sorcerer except through my father’s stories, and this last month magic has endangered my life or the lives of my people _three times_. We still can’t drink the water! Everything I knew about Merlin made him seem like a good person, but did I even know him? He arrived when these,” he waved his hand around the room “ _unfortunate incidents_ started. Is he responsible for them? Or is he the reason I haven’t been _killed_ by them?” 

The outburst seemed to calm Morgana down. “You certainly seem to have kept your mind busy,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sick of it.” 

“Well, thinking has never been your strong suit.” 

Arthur couldn’t help the tight bark of laughter that escaped him. He looked up to his childhood friend, “Morgana… how—how do you feel about my father?” 

Morgana stilled for a moment. “I have much to be grateful for,” she started, slowly, “and I feel that I owe him for taking care of me these years. But,” she took a seat next to Arthur, keeping a hand on his arm “I hold no affection for him. He is… he is cruel, Arthur. And I believe he has been wrong about many,” she held his gaze, “many things.” 

Arthur nodded once, and Morgana straightened herself to leave. 

“Arthur,” she paused by the door, “give Merlin my thanks for saving Gwen, if you see him. I’m not sure he knew what she means to me, but he deserves my gratitude. I owe him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did I write you alloromantics correctly?
> 
> Tenn is one of Gaius’ beaus; they/them. 
> 
> I have no idea what Camelot or its surroundings look like geographically, so I picked south because south is my favorite cardinal direction. Feel free to correct me if anyone bothered to figure out a map of the place. 
> 
> I have decided that, through the powers of I said so, the druids are not only a magical group but an ethnic group as well. “looks like a sympathizer” to Uther just means looks like a druid. I haven’t decided what they look like yet because I refuse to accidentally support any of a myriad of stereotypes I could stumble in to with “magical semi-nomadic pacifist who live in the woods and will be a source of wisdom and guidance to Merlin” but also no, they’re not white. 
> 
> Also ugh so many moving parts, how am I supposed to keep track of and develop so many characters? Gross. My fault but still gross.


	3. Merlin Hates Mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin comes up with multiple ways of describing a mud monster.

_Afanc [magical, elemental]_.

_The Afanc is a creature little recognized, and its summoning is highly frowned upon by those who know of it. It is created by joining earth and water in a powerful magical ritual, and it poisons the water source it hatches in. It has historically been summoned to assist conquering forces during sieges, as death by Afanc water is delayed by a day and can only be prevented through magical healing. Killing the Afanc will not purify the water, but since the creature is little known, many have fallen to its curse by assuming killing the creature would save them from thirst. Afancs are aggressive and territorial._

Merlin gazed at the picture in the bestiary. It had been dark in the water caves, but there was no mistaking the illustration. He sighed. If killing it wouldn’t be enough to solve the problem, he needed to find a spell to cleanse the water as well as a way to kill the beast. He suspected an elemental creature summoned by magic couldn’t be killed with a simple sword, and he wouldn’t know how to use a sword properly anyway. Usually he could go to the Dragon or Gaius for help with a question like this, but he’d only just snuck into the citadel; despite his bluster, he knew the risk of going anywhere near Camelot. Going to Gaius’ was bad enough, but the Dragon was deep inside the castle, and Merlin really didn’t think he should risk it. 

He set aside the question of how to kill the Afanc for a moment _(earth and water, elemental… think… earth and water…)_ hoping he could think of something if he let it simmer in his mind. Instead, he turned to the two books most likely to help him purify the water: Gaius’ physician manual, and one of the smaller spell books, in which he had seen a few healing spells. There might be something in the potion book, as well, but he wasn’t sure if he would be successful on his first try; besides, if potion work was anything like baking, getting something _slightly_ wrong can actually have very _gross_ consequences. If he didn’t find anything in the first two books, though, he would definitely have to try it. 

He sighed, scrubbing at his eyes. Healing spells were incredibly tricky; there weren’t that many, and the more powerful they were the more dangerous they were. Something about balance; he wished he had listened to Gaius’ lectures more carefully. Despite the risk of being a sorcerer in Camelot, he never thought he would actually be separated from the man. He did remember Gaius telling him how closely sorcery and healing used to be intertwined, though; healing spells were a bitch, but magic could be used to amplify ingredients and tinctures and whatnot. Merlin groaned loudly, and the trees creaked in sympathy. Couldn’t he have outed himself when he actually knew enough magic to be helpful? He hadn’t realized how dependent he had been on constant advice and guidance until it was gone. He wished that, for once, he could know a helpful spell _before_ something decided to threaten Camelot. Scrambling for answers while people were dying was quite stressful, really, and couldn’t be good for his complexion. At least he had a good number of hours left before sunset, a good fortune he decided to resent, simply because he knew it would be spent frantically searching through the texts. 

***

Surprisingly, he found a spell for purifying the water quickly enough. He supposed it was useful, guaranteeing that water was clean, even when your kingdom wasn’t being threatened by a gross, poisonous mud beast. It was a poultice, similar to the one he had used to heal Gwen’s father, but focused on absorbing maladies instead of expelling them. He recognized some of the herbs as ones Gaius used when treating wounds, either to prevent or combat infections. The enchantment was simple enough, and served to activate and enhance the ingredients of the poultice. Just to be safe, he made three. It was a pretty large poisonous mud beast, after all.

Now, Merlin had several restless hours to spend trying to come up with a way to actually kill the Afanc. He pulled out his one-way stone, playing with it as his mind wandered. Earth and water… he felt like there was something fairly simple there, if he could only understand it. _Earth_ and _water_. He focused back on the earring. It would be pretty cool of Gaius to find something and call him. Super cool. Any minute now. Ugh. Now that he thought about it, it would be helpful if he could keep the earring somewhere visible—its not like he had to hide his magic anymore, he just had to hide all of him. A thin piece of rope and he could fashion it into a clumsy necklace, he supposed. Merlin didn’t have any with him, but he knew Gaius had some; maybe he’d go get some after killing the Afanc. Right, the Afanc. How long had his thoughts wandered? 

Afanc. Fire and water. Fire and water. Wait no, not fire, earth. And water. Wait. Fire? What even were all the elements? Earth and water, obviously, since the Afanc had those covered. Fire, probably. Wind? Air? Those for seemed logical enough. Nope, the earring still wasn’t glowing. Ugh. 

Earth and water, fire and air. They did seem like opposite pairs… maybe that could work. Merlin knew how to create fire, and he knew a wind spell. If it didn’t work, he supposed he could just… blast the Afanc away from him, high tail it, and try again the next night. Merlin looked at the sky. He still had some time before sundown, and he might as well spend it usefully. Other than his book-shelter (which he was now _very_ proud of) he had nothing at all in his clearing that marked it as his own. Merlin grabbed some of the leftover branches from his earlier project and built a small fire several feet from the book-shelter. The wild library. Nature knowledge. Now he was really getting distracted. He pulled out some strips of dried meat and threw them in a small pot of water, along with a couple mushrooms he foraged. Despite loving their taste, Merlin didn’t particularly trust mushrooms; Gaius, however, had done a good job in drilling the edible ones into Merlin’s brain (along with the poisonous ones, the ones that were edible but only under certain conditions, the ones that were medical unless you used them wrong, in which case they were poisonous—those lessons were the reason Merlin didn’t find mushrooms to be trustworthy little fellows). 

Once it was all hot and steamy he made quick, loud work of eating it, slurping a grossly exaggerated amount simply because there was no one around to tell him not to. 

Finishing his last bite, and feeling rather satisfied with himself, Merlin prepared himself to leave just as the sun was setting. It would be well dark by the time he reached Camelot, but not so late that he would be gone until daybreak.

***

Merlin’s time estimates had been correct, in theory, but in practice he had gotten quite lost, and arrived in Camelot much later than he’d anticipated. He shuffled around the streets, dodging guards and causing occasional distractions. Really, if he could make his way around this easily, it was no wonder people kept sneaking in to kill Arthur or poison Camelot or whatever. Couldn’t sorcerers sneak in to heal crops and fix houses? The Dragon was probably full of shit, but Merlin really wanted his tales about Arthur being a just King and legalizing magic to be real. How would Arthur ever get to that point if the only magic he saw was magic that hurt? It was surprising enough how the prince had acted when Merlin turned him self in, even when ignoring the prat’s probable crush. 

Merlin sighed, shook his head as if that would help him concentrate, and walked into the looming cave system. 

***

So the Afanc wasn’t in the main water supply, unlike last time. Merlin was very much upset at this, since the only thing worse than an oozing mud monster is an oozing mud monster you can’t find, but you know is there. 

He held his torch higher, because, fire. Fire that would hopefully kill the damn Afanc. He knew the cave system was filled with a multitude of wells, and figured the Afanc would be in one of them; the problem of looking for it was that caves were confusing as hell, and Merlin didn’t fancy getting lost in the dark. 

“Hey there you nasty fuck, where’d you go?” 

Unsurprisingly, the dark didn’t answer. 

“Come on, I probably taste great! Look, I’m intruding in your territory. Attack me or something!”

Actually, intruding on the Afanc’s territory sounded like a good idea (did he really say that just now? Yes he did). He picked up a rock and threw it into the water. “C’mere, motherfucker. Don’t be afraid—I’m skinny and harmless, see?” He threw another rock, more aggressively this time. 

He waited a second. And another. Nothing. 

“Come ON!” he said, and (perhaps foolishly) stomped up to the water and slapped it. It stung the palm of his hand, but no melting monster showed up. In a very mature, intelligent way, Merlin started slapping the water madly, spraying water all around him. 

“Where! Are! Yo—AH!”

The water parted around the Afanc, which came up roaring. Merlin fell onto his ass. He waved his torch madly as he scrambled backwards, out of the way of the Afanc. The creature was surprisingly fast, and Merlin had to throw himself out of the way of its bear-like claws. 

He got to his feet and backed away, threatening the Afanc with his torch. He hoped he wasn’t imaging the creature’s slight hesitation. _Now or never,_ he thought, and mumbled his wind spell. It came roaring through the tunnels, carrying the flames in its embrace, and enveloped the Afanc. The monster roared as it bubbled and popped, spraying merlin, and melted into the earth until there was no trace of it left. Merlin stood there, panting.

“Well that was disgusting,” he said, wiping the mud off his face. He walked up to the water and pulled out his poultices. He cracked his neck and shook out his wrists, because _damn_ if this didn’t work. His eyes glowed gold as he activated the spell and dropped the bags into the water. They hissed on contact, and the water started to glow. Merlin thought he could see dark masses flowing towards the bags and circling around them before being absorbed, and suddenly the glow was gone. Merlin stood by the water for another few minutes, wondering how long it took the poultices to work. Once facing another Afanc became preferable to tapping his foot any longer, merlin ducked down and drank a handful of the water. Tasted like water. If the spell hadn’t worked, he’d know by morning. 

The adrenaline subsided as Merlin walked out of the cave, and his hands started shaking. He should deliver a few more poultices before he went back to his camp, forget how bone-tired he felt for now. He didn’t have nearly enough poultices for everyone who might still be infected (would killing the Afanc heal them? He didn’t know), but he could save a few more. He was out of the ingredients though, so he really hoped they’d all heal soon. Might as well work on the opposite end of town.

Walking up to the first house he had randomly chosen (he liked the flowers on the window sill) he nearly shrieked when someone grabbed him by the arm. 

“Merlin?” A middle-aged resident looked him in the eyes. Merlin vaguely recognized them from the kitchens. Their lower lip looked a bit raw, as if they worried it frequently .

“No.” Merlin quickly said. “Who? What? You’re crazy, let me go.” 

They rolled their eyes. “We haven’t met, but my name is Tenn. I’m sure Gaius has mentioned me?”

“Uh, yeah.” (Wait, no, he should have continued to play the fool). 

“Prince Arthur asked me about you today. I don’t suppose you’re actually a sorcerer?” 

“Gaius didn’t—I mean, no, I’m not.” Damn, he was out of practice lying.

“Don’t be a fool,” the hands, still clamped around his arm, dragged him towards the house with the cute flowers, “come inside, the guards should be around soon.” 

Tenn cosed the door behind themselves and turned around. “I thank you for the poultice you’ve got in your hands, but I’ve taken care of it myself.” They pulled the scarf off their head, revealing closely cropped hair, as if they hadn’t said anything unusual.

Merlin stared. “You’ve what?”

Tenn pointed to the perfectly inconspicuous looking perfume bags on the windowsill. Except, now that he concentrated, Merlin could feel a slight thrum of magic around them. Merlin turned back to Tenn in shock.

“What, thought you were the only sorcerer in Camelot?” They asked.

“I—yeah, actually. Gaius never mentioned you were a sorcerer.” 

“As well he shouldn’t, since he doesn’t know.” 

“Oh. I thought you were seeing each other?”

“There are many ways to have a relationship, Merlin. Gaius and I enjoy each other’s company, but don’t talk about ourselves much. I much prefer it that way, and Gaius is perfectly content. Besides, magic is a secret that should only be shared by the person in question. He never told me about you, either. I suspected once the rumors started circulating and you were nowhere to be found, but only knew for sure when I saw you tonight.”

“Oh.” Merlin really didn’t know what to feel. “Are there others?”

“With magic? There are many of us, Merlin, though none I know are as powerful as you. If you’re asking about other’s with relationships like Gaius and I, the answer to that is also yes. You?”

Merlin grinned sheepishly. Was he that easy to read? “Honestly, I think even a relationship as restricted as that would be too much for me. I never understood seeking something romantic, or why it was different to friendship.” He glanced back to the windowsill. “Why don’t your poultices glow?”

“Different spells, I suspect, and different potencies. One of mine couldn’t have healed me if I were as sick as Gwen’s father had been. Now,” they turned back to Merlin, “why, pray tell, are you sneaking around Camelot when you’re a wanted man?” 

“Well, hopefully to fix the water situation.” Tenn raised an eyebrow. “I killed a beast in the water supplies and hopefully nullified the toxins in the water. I don’t know if it will heal those already sick, so I was going to leave my last few poultices under people’s doorstep and help who I could.” 

“I’ll take care of that for you, you need to get back to wherever you’ve been hiding as quickly as possible. I know a few families who are friends of magic and could use these.”

Merlin handed the poultices over, inexplicably chocked up. “Thank you. May I hug you?”

“Of course.” Tenn was quite short, but their hug was warm and comforting. “Now go, you foolish boy.” 

"Yeah, I'm going. Do you have a bit of string, by any chance?"

***

The next morning, the markets were bustling, and people were celebrating. Decorations were being put up, and food and drink was everywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will respect Tenn's pronoun's or I will smite you. They're the same person Arthur met in the market, but Arthur was raised by Uther and assumed Tenn was a woman (hopefully that wasn't too confusing the way I wrote it). 
> 
> Merlin's going to thoroughly fuck around in the woods, and meet Lancelot soon. From this point on, I _truly_ get to do what I want with the plot :)


	4. Arthur in Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said gratuitous merlin fucking around in the woods, but I forgot I had to write an important Arthur chapter first haha. Its short and sweet though so enjoy.

The town was rejoicing. Those who were sick had woken up in perfect health; the water was safe to drink again. Gaius had confirmed it, and an official announcement had been made. People were celebrating by pouring buckets of water on each other and sharing drinks, together with more traditional forms of celebration. Food, wine, and mead were everywhere.

The king was also in a cheery mood. 

“Don’t you see, Arthur? The sorcerer must have died. It would have been better to have him burned at the stake, of course, or killed by the nights. It is always good do discourage other sorcerers. But the sorcerer—you often complained about him being clumsy when he was parading as your manservant, didn’t you? The mutt must have fallen off a cliff somewhere and rid us of the curse!” The king wasn’t drunk, but he had already drunk a few cups. He tended to talk more. 

“Of course, father. Though I must say, I am glad the potential casualties that were spared us by the sorcerer dying out of our hands.”

“I suppose, I suppose.”

Despite what he had said, though, Arthur didn’t think Merlin was dead. Not with Gaius as cheerful as the rest of the town. He also didn’t think Merlin had cast the curse to start with. 

Time felt like it was dragging since Merlin had escaped. He didn’t know what to think; didn’t know how to think, when the thoughts themselves could be considered treason. Even a good man would hesitate to save a kingdom that would see him dead. Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin had saved them. Facts weren’t thoughts (weren’t treason). Merlin was alive somewhere (probably). 

Arthur excused himself and sought out Gaius for a headache medicine, and maybe a sleeping drought. He let it slip that his father thought Merlin was dead. Later, the king made an announcement to the whole town that their salvation was brought by the death of the recently escaped sorcerer. 

In the lower town, a short resident grinned up at the king. The expression was perfectly genuine; it was perfectly natural, in the face of joyous news. The difference between them and a good number of other smiling lower town residents was that Tenn knew the truth. They were smiling because Uther was so incredibly _wrong_. His wishful ignorance was going to be a blessing to Merlin. They only hoped the boy would hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really putting Arthur through the wringer, huh. To be fair, its only been a few days. And Arthur is basically dealing with his problems the same way I dealt with every romantic, sexual, and gender crisis I have had -- don't think about it. Ignore it. Eventually the subconscious comes to a conclusion and ta dah! You're fixed.


	5. Time to Fuck Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has plans. Many plans.

If Merlin waking up well and alive wasn’t enough of an indicator that the water was now safe, the celebrations he could see form his clearing would definitely do the trick. Maybe he would sneak into town and have something to drink with Tenn, later. Then again, maybe not. He was desperately tired and could use an early night for a change. And a chance to sleep in! No Arthur to wake him up in the mornings, no Gaius to remind him that things were running late. Merlin trusted Gaius to call him if things went sour within the castle walls and needed a magical intervention, so as long as the earring hanging from the string around his neck didn’t start to glow, Merlin was free as a bird. 

And Oh, did Merlin have a plan. Many plans. He was incredibly lucky it hadn’t rained yet, but he didn’t want to push his luck. What he needed was a house. Being a farm boy didn’t help much with being a manservant, but Merlin had seen at least one new house built or repaired each year he had lived in Ealdor, and had helped with many. The houses in Camelot proper seemed to be built more of wood, but the ones in Ealdor were all made of mud. Merlin didn’t have the time, patience, or skill to build a wooden house, and he had never seen it done. Besides, mud was nice—warm, easy to repair, and stable. He didn’t have the luxury to ask for help, so he would stick to what he knew. 

Other than some casual home construction, Merlin needed food; he could only forage so long, and his supplies were running low. He knew Gaius wouldn’t turn him away or let him grow hungry, but he also didn’t want to depend on the old man. It would be weeks before he had any yield, but merlin was going to start a teeny tiny farm. More of a garden, really, but one he could hopefully live off of. The growing season was longer in Camelot than Ealdor anyway, so he hoped he would have fresh food by the end of the summer. 

And of course, perhaps the most exciting: Merlin was going to blatantly study, learn, and exercise his magic. He would do whatever spell he wanted, whenever he wanted to. 

This all assumed a magical attack didn’t happen in the next few days (or weeks). Knowing his luck, Merlin figured he didn’t have any time to waste, and got to work. He had already spent the morning reading up on some spells that could help expand his natural ability to move things with his magic, which would be helpful to gathering large stones. He started with the ones in his clearing; there were plenty, and he would need to clear them for his garden anyway. The clearing only provided about half of the stones Merlin needed, so he headed out into the woods to find more. 

He was so intent on his work he didn’t notice his necklace shining until he had moved all the stones he needed into the clearing. Great. An attack already? Hopefully it could wait until the evening, because there was no way Merlin would be able to sneak into Camelot in broad daylight. He did, however, need supplies before he could continue his project. He grabbed the bag of coins he had (a combination of his pay from the last month and some of Gaius’ savings) and headed towards the outskirts of Camelot. He knew the farmers wouldn’t recognize him, and hoped he was far enough from the citadel that guards wouldn’t patrol there too frequently. 

***

The walk to the farms was a lot longer than the walk to Camelot, so instead of heading back to camp with his broken bucket, hoe, and shovel, Merlin headed for the citadel to see Gaius. He unceremoniously dumped them in a bush and snuck his way to his old mentor. 

“Gaius? What magical malady do I need to fend off now?”

Gaius turned around, smiling. “Merlin! I was wondering when you would show. Don’t worry yourself, I called you for good news! Uther thinks you’re dead, and has called off the search.”

It took Merlin a second to process what Gaius had said. “Dead? Why would I be dead? I haven’t even _seen_ the patrols looking for me, much less ben stabbed to death by them.”

“Because you lifted the curse, Merlin. He assumed you were the one that cast it, and now that you’ve fixed the problem, he thinks it’s because you died and took your magic with you.” 

“Oh. That’s convenient, I suppose. I do have to keep my non-death a secret now, I guess, but considering my continued existence near Camelot was already a secret I don’t think that changes much. 

“Come here boy,” Gaius waived him over, “and have some dinner. I made extra; it’s your favorite.” 

So, they had dinner and a pleasant conversation. Gaius, in slightly uncharacteristic fashion, told him of all the festivities and gossip of the day. He provided Merlin with some seeds and some more herbs ( _which I expect you to pay me back, you know, my bones are too old for gathering much_ ). Gaius even taught Merlin a couple spells himself; simple household spells for helping in the garden or around the house. 

Merlin only left once it was much too late, collapsed happily in the grass of his soon-to-be new home, and promptly fell asleep.


	6. Fuck Around some More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin does, indeed, fuck around some more.

Merlin had bought the broken tools for only a few coins; the farmers had been far enough from Camelot that a trip to a blacksmith was barely worth it, and Merlin talked her into selling easily. They were easy to fix if you had magic, though.

After sleeping in later than he had in what felt like years, he got back to work on his house. He gathered more sticks from the woods and stripped them with his magic, trying to make it as obvious as he could. He would throw a handful of sticks into the air, catch them suspended with his magic, and make the bark fall off in pretty little curls. He gathered armfuls and armfuls of tall grasses from another field about an hour away and brought it back in just one trip. 

He picked a spot on the edge of the clearing closer to Camelot, which was just slightly higher than the rest of the clearing and shoved the sticks into the dirt in a large circle. 

By then, it was getting late, and Merlin’s muscles were straining from their vigorous use. He had some more mushrooms and jerky stew, took a walk, found a blueberry bush, consumed an entire bush’s worth of blueberry’s, and returned to camp, where he saw, in the distance, the procession of candles in Camelot. Yesterdays celebrations of health, contrasted by a collective mourning of those who had not made it. Merlin sat on the slope and watched, wishing he could hold a candle because if he had only been better, faster, smarter, less people would have died. If he had been more powerful, he could have saved more. He lit a long blade of grass, his own small candle, and kept the flame from consuming it too quickly. Three small golden lights flickered on his slope, two of them alive. It didn’t’ feel like enough, and, unbidden, Merlin’s magic reached out and a soft melody started to vibrate through the air. It was the Death Song sung during funerals in Ealdor, a melody supposedly much older than the small town. If the Camelot mourners heard a melancholic tune on the wind and a quiet sobbing in their hearts, they didn’t say.

***

The next day started early and well rested. Merlin placed the stones around the sticks, carted bucketsful of mud over the first layer, and placed more stones on top. He repeated this until he had a short stone wall about two feet tall, ate an apple and took a nap. Then he went back to his house and threaded the magically dried grass through the sticks, providing some extra support. Then, quite happy with himself for what he felt was a complicated combination of his innate magic and two different spells, Merlin moved massive amounts of mud in careful coordination to build the walls of his home. He did have to take breaks to correct a few mistakes here and there, slap the walls with a shovel, and let them dry enough to support the weight of even more mud, but it was way faster than anything he had ever seen in Ealdor.

It was night again, and merlin slept inside his walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I was feeling dramatic with that mourning scene? Because I can.
> 
> There's another one of these coming, and its longer, but I wasn't able to quite finish it tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps.


	7. The Fuckery Simply Does Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As suggested by my oh so clever chapter title, The Fuckery Simply _Does_ Continue (with a surprise Bonus of Nudity)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to mostly talk about Merlin’s dinner, but I promise he’s eating enough. Boy’s hungry okay? And he loves breakfast.

Merlin woke up creaky in his bones. His body was _sore_ , and so was some deeper part of him. His magic, maybe? He had never used it so consistently for such an extended amount of time before. He looked at his roofless house and decided he needed some tending to before he continued. Groaning with more enthusiasm than necessary, he pushed to his feet and smacked his lips a few times. He wandered to the blueberry bush and found a few berries he had missed; with great and admirable amounts of self-discipline, he carried them back and threw them into his porridge. Eating loudly had already lost its rebellious appeal, and simply made him annoyed at his own smacking, so Merlin ate quietly and looked at his work. The walls were straight enough, and the stone base was a nice touch. He should try to add a window or two, really, or it would get quite dark inside. Maybe raise the ground level inside just a bit, to avoid water flow. The wooden supports were taller than the walls would be, and about every other one split near the top. The grass was already turned over in several strategic (ie randomly, based on vibes and the assumption of crop productivity) places from his mud gathering, which would make his gardening expedition easier when the time came. 

Swallowing his last mouthful, Merlin headed towards the stream for a well-deserved soak. 

***

So, as it turns out, Merlin had forgotten to bring a change of clothes. That was fine, there was no one around but him to smell his stench, he certainly didn’t mind, oh no, not at all. Merlin loved the smell and feeling of filthy clothing, of that you could be sure. 

He really didn’t. So, after he finished inching his way into the cold stream pool a few minutes from his clearing, he pulled his clothes in after him. Maybe he could use the same drying spell he had used on the grass. He dunked his head, slipped around, scrubbed his hair, and had a grand old time. Finally, he was feeling refreshed and relatively clean. Then he had a less grand old time, scrubbing his clothes against the largest rock he could find to try and get the grime out. How had he and Gaius both forgotten soap? 

Eventually his fingers started pruning up, and Merlin decided it was time to return to dry land. He stared at the dripping cloth in his hands. What would he rather risk ruining? His breeches, smallclothes, or tunic? He knew the answer, practically speaking. Holding up his beautiful, blesses neckerchief, Merlin muttered the drying spell he had used on the grass. At first, it seemed to be working: the cloth’s color lightened as the water was wicked away, and he could feel it drying in his hand. Until, of course, it got too dry and disintegrated. Great. The grass didn’t disintegrate, why would fabric? 

Merlin sighed. Who cared if he was nude? There was no one here to see, anyway. See, walking was no different, mechanically speaking. Small bushes brushed against him, but who cared?

By the time he reached camp, Merlin was giggling out of control. He had walked through the woods _nude_. Imagine if Uther had seen him! Or Arthur! Merlin bounced a little bit, just to emphasize his position to himself, and laughed harder. This was insane! And he wasn’t even under a tree cover anymore, which just made the whole situation seem more ridiculous and made him laugh harder. He ignited the fire with a flash of his eyes and placed his clothes around him to dry. After about a minute or two of watching the flames, Merlin sobered up.

Now what? Even his underclothes needed time to dry, and being in The Nude was starting to lose its appeal. He stared at his clothing. He didn’t know any spells, but what if he just…

He felt for his magic and just. Pulled? A little bit, imagining the river water getting separated form his things. He hadn’t really explored his innate, wordless magic very much. His mother already flipped between worry and anger whenever he moved objects, he didn’t need the consequence of purposeful magical exploration. But now, as he pulled a little harder, he could see the water leaving his clothes. Just a little at a time, and a little more. He touched his things; his briefs were still damp, but his underclothes were mostly dry. Decided he didn’t want to experience Disintegration Part Two: This Time Its Personal, and put them on. Slightly, teeny bit damp, just enough not to be dry, but not too bad. 

Time for some more wood gathering. Merlin needed longer, thicker pieces than before, and so the search took longer. Once he had enough to support the roof structure, Merlin looked for a central post. Usually in Ealdor, they downed a tree and kept whatever they didn’t use for the next person to need a roof over-haul. Merlin didn’t want to take down a whole tree if he didn’t have to, because it seemed like quite a bit of unnecessary effort, but didn’t find any branches that were both straight and long enough. He dropped off the wood he had already gathered and returned to his tree of choice. Laying a hand on it, he sent a pulse of his magic through it as sorry and thanks, waited a moment, and knocked it over as gently as he could. 

It was a whole fucking tree, and even with his magic merlin struggled getting it back. He put on his breeches and took a small break, watching the birds and sipping at a cold cup of water, before continuing. It was an arduous and combined effort of shovel and magic to dig a whole deep enough for the central post. Near the end, he was simply making desperate scooping motions in the air and magically flinging dirt out. It was effective but tiring. Then, with the power of _please I just want to finish this before bed_ , Merlin pushed the trunk into the whole and, with a tired sweep of his hand, refilled it with dirt. 

***

Merlin really, _really_ wanted to rest the next day, but he could see the storm clouds building in the distance. And so, complaining the entire way, he propped the posts on the v-shaped openings in the wood supporting the wall. Then, he desperately thatched the roof as he watched the rain clouds roll closer, grateful that he had gathered insane amounts of grass in advance. He bundled and threw as quickly as his magic let him, and finished just as the first rain drops hit his head. He put some extra grass in the entry way, and kicked a small ditch into existence in front of that for good measure, and settled down to watch the storm pass. 

He was amazed. In the matter of a few days, he had built himself an entire house. It usually took at least a week in Ealdor, with a whole team of people helping. And Uther would have him murdered, because it was magic that made it possible. Look at him, Merlin the high-profile criminal, using his criminal skills to build nefarious homes and shadily save people from death. Merlin shook his head; he was out, out of Camelot, and freer with his magic than he had ever been, there was no need to fill his head with thoughts of that ass. So, instead, he admired how dry he was while the storm raged all around him. The roof was holding up, even under the wind, which was a good sign. He leaned against the post, adjusting a little bit so his back was comfortable against the wood, and closed his eyes. The rain sounded very nice, and the could feel the thunder rumble in his chest throught the earth and the wood behind him. He imagined he could almost feel a pulsing, too, coming through the wood, almost like a heartbeat. Smiling, he sent his own little pulse of magic back, thanking it again for protecting him. 

Tired out from his literal fucking home construction, Merlin settled on the far side of the house—of his _home_ , and took a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was nude Merlin too much? Because that is 100% how I would react to walking through the woods naked, and if you disagree you’re too much of a coward to admit that you would absolutely make you tits/penis bounce a little extra (do dicks bounce??) (dysphoria doesn’t count yall are excused from being cowards bc you’re actually truly not cowards I don’t make the rules)
> 
> Also, important question: should Lancelot show up next chapter or should Merlin do some more settling in?


	8. Lancelot Oh Yeah (and strawberries)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin meets a few things in the woods. Strawberries strong arm their way into the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha jokes on yall I had already made my decision about Lancelot. Now you get to find out what the decision was. Also, I seem to have forgotten that Merlin is technically a warlock and that’s not the same as a sorcerer so pretend that’s not a continuity error.

It had been a little over a week since Merlin had finished his house. He hadn’t added windows, after all, because he didn’t have glass and they would pose quite the rain problem. Besides, the space between the top of the mud walls and the bottom of the roofing let in plenty of light, and he didn’t spend much time inside. 

Merlin could have spent the whole week sleeping, and he would have been quite happy to, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had ripped out large amounts of grass, gotten himself a nice rake, and mostly prepared himself to start planting. He still had plenty of food, though, and wasn’t in a hurry. He had gone to visit Gaius and remedied his clothing and soap problem, been not-so-kindly reminded that he needed to gather herbs for the old man, and been kindly fed a large dinner. 

And so, he spent the next few days after that taking it relatively easy and stocking up on a lot of herbs. He had gathered the refills for Gaius, of course, but he had also started to assemble his own collection. They hung neatly from his ceiling, providing a nice homey feel to his _fucking house_ and rustling softly in the breeze. Currently, he was brewing a healing potion. Potions, apparently, worked magic quite differently form spells and could heal without upsetting the Great Cosmic Balance of Life and Death. As far as he understood, the ingredients themselves, along with the process, were the price paid for healing someone. It would have been quite interesting if Merlin was less confused by it. 

He had started the potion the day before and let it sit under the new moon, and now the last step was to imbue it with his magic. He placed his palms on either side of the large bowl he was using and started to chant. It was a long spell, and he could feel his magic pouring from his fingertips and swirling into the potion, which slowly started to glow the same gold as his eyes. It felt oddly different from when he used his magic for spells or enchantments; more like the potion was demanding his magic and taking what it needed than like he was providing it of his own free will. And then, the potion was sated, the enchantment ended, and Merlin’s magic cut off. 

It glowed gold, a softer shade than that of his eyes, and had no smell. It seemed to have all gone to plan. Merlin swung his arm around and slapped his hand against his home with a loud _smak!_ , making a whole racket about it because _’damn that hurt!’_. He could feel the bruise forming, and his hand had started to swell a little. Maybe he had over done it. Dipping a finger of his good hand into the liquid, he spread it across his hand. Almost immediately, the pain stopped, and after a few seconds the swelling reversed itself. 

Merlin jumped and yelled, ecstatic. He could make healing potions now! Take that, next thing to threaten Camelot and try to kill people! He would save them this time! Dropping into the grass, he relished the feel of the sun on his face. He let himself fancy that the world was celebrating with him and started to drift off with his imaginings. Him, running around secretly healing people, somehow. Never mind threats to Camelot, maybe he could heal the sick and injured for no reason at all. Help people Gaius couldn’t, or who couldn’t reach Gaius. He’d be some kind of secret, magical doctor, and would single handedly change the popular opinion on magic. 

Well, that was unrealistic. Especially when considering the newfound implications of Tenn and what they had said, which strongly implied that Camelot had enough magic sympathizers to have some kind of _community_. He wished he had _known_ about that; he wouldn’t have felt nearly so alone. He would still be alone in the ‘most powerful sorcerer slash warlock ever’ kind of way (was that even real? Or was the dragon as batty as his wings?) and the ‘you have an immutable destiny that you can’t avoid but might still fuck up somehow’ kind of way, but at least he wouldn’t have been alone in the ‘sorcerer dumb enough to live in Camelot on purpose’ kind of way. 

A cloud drifted over the sun, blocking its warmth. After a few seconds, Merlin gave up on waiting for it to pass and let him get back to his basking and sat up. He didn’t know what to do with himself, now that he wasn’t a physician’s apprentice, or a prince’s manservant, or a peasant in a farm town, or a secret warlock saving Camelot. Well, he was still that last one, but there was nothing to save Camelot from at the moment. He had built a house, and cozied the house a bit, too. He had prepared a garden, then felt too lazy to plant it. He had read through the whole damn bestiary, which he had adored. He had committed as many of the creatures to memory as he could—wyverns and unicorns and manticores, different kinds folk from the fair realms, sea serpents and wood nymphs and river spirits. And he had flipped to the last chapter and found that, to his utter delight, the book came with spells! Apparently, the last section of the book was _’surely not extensive, but here we annotate the essential spells that any beast wrangler, novice or master, should know’_. He had committed those to memory, too, for the most part. It was amazing, really, the amount of time he found on his hands now. Especially with his newfound right of doing magic whenever he damn well pleased, which made him even more efficient than living under Gaius and Arthur’s thumbs had already trained him to be. 

Maybe he should get back to the garden, despite his laziness and unwillingness to spend that much time on his knees. Of all the new spells he had learned, he had not learned a spell that would plant a garden on his behalf. Or he could go for a walk and collect more herbs. Deciding on the latter, Merlin set of at a pleasant pace, leaving his shirt in his cottage. The day was warm, and he wasn’t about to run into anyone. 

***

Well, Merlin hadn’t met any _one_ , but he had met a rather angry, slightly rampaging Griffin. Merlin had come up on her, both of them unaware, and she reared up and attacked him. Merlin managed to roll away with only a scratch to his arm, then cast the shield charm and a communication charm from the bestiary in quick succession. The shield charm had failed, but the communication charm hit it’s mark and now Merlin understood what the different sounds and movements of the Griffin meant—because _apparently_ most magical creatures were sentient, intelligent, and often self-aware, even if dragons were one of the only non-humanoid creatures to be able to speak in a human language. 

Anyway, now Merlin knew that the Griffin was in fact, a very concerned mother Griffon. 

_\--”Away! Away! Away from my hatchlings!”--_

Merlin bowed low, and kept his distance, hoping to look nonthreatening. That seemed to be the wrong move.

_\--”Pounce? It’s going to pounce!”--_

_\--”No!”--_ Merlin immediately straightened, holding his hands out and down instead. Luckily, the Griffon was startled enough by his speech to hesitate. _\--”I mean no harm to your hatchlings, Mother.”--_ He had no idea what Griffon honorifics were, and hoped he wasn’t being rude. 

_\--”Mother? Yes, I am Mother.” --_ the Griffon tilted its head to the side, inquisitive. _\--”No harm?” --_

_\--”No, Mother, I mean no harm. I live near here, and was gathering” --_ did Griffons understand what herbs were? _\--”food when we met. I am sorry for scaring you.” --_

The whipping of her lion tail had changed, going from angry to inquisitive. _\--”Yes, very frightened. What is ‘live’?” --_

Oh. _\--”Live is.. nest. I nest near here.” --_

The Griffon understood. _\--”I nest near here, too. My hatchlings. My territory. How far goes your territory?” --_

Merlin struggled to answer that question, not sure what territory meant to a Griffon. He didn’t notice the shift in the tail, the eyes snapping to some point behind him, and the slow aggressive crouch of her front legs. 

_\--”YOU LIE!” --_ she shrieked, combined lion roar and eagle keen reverberating through his belly to his skull. _\--”YOU LIE! YOU ATTACK! AWAY! AWAY!” --_

The Griffon reared again. A man came running out of the trees brandishing his sword and yelling for Merlin to “get back!” and got himself slashed well and truly across the chest.

Almost simultaneously, desperate and unthinking, Merlin cast the shield charm again, yelling “she’s only frightened!”. It worked a second too late, but saved the man from a second attempt by the Griffon. She seemed to hesitate on the air, landing on something solid, before she came down onto all fours again to the left of the shield. 

Too late, Merlin remembered that Griffon’s couldn’t be hurt by unmagicked weapons, and that he was still a _sorcerer_ in fucking _Camelot_ and he was about to be led to the stake by this well-meaning stranger he had just saved, if that slash across his chest didn’t kill him first. He might as well seal the deal and continue to be blatantly treasonous, in that case.

_\--”He’s only frightened! I don’t know him!” --_ he said, desperate. _\--”Please! He thought you were going to hurt me, and was trying to protect.” --_ Absentmindedly, he wondered what the communication spell sounded like to an observer. Was he screeching like a Griffon? 

_\--”Frightened. Frightened again. Hatchlings. Are my hatchlings safe?” --_

Merlin glanced behind him. The man stared up at him, clutching at his wound. His eyes were wide and startled, but they didn’t seem hostile. Merlin decided to try his luck. 

“She wants to know if her nest is safe.” 

The man’s eyes widened a bit more, and Merlin thought he saw comprehension dawn on him. “I—um, yes. I will not attack her nest, nor will I give information that could lead to an attack.” 

Merlin relayed the information. The Griffon seemed satisfied, and her stance relaxed again. Merlin was running a huge risk, keeping his back to the armed man, but he had to deal with the Griffon first. 

_\--”Is your kind friendly?” --_ the Griffon asked. 

Merlin startled a bit. _\--”My kind is.. very easily frightened, and will react like this man if they see you,” --_ he said, gesturing behind him _\--”they will not be able to speak to you, as I can, and will think you are attacking their nests and their territory and will attack you, and try to find your nest.” --_ Merlin really hoped that was the right way to explain it to a still anxious, but no longer openly hostile, Griffon. 

The Griffon paused, thinking. _\--”Where is their territory? I will not frighten.” --_

Merlin sighed, relaxing his stance a little. _\--”There are… stone buildings, and stone walls—we call it a castle—a little north east—uh, towards the rising sun—“--_ he pointed, feeling helpless, _\--”that, and the skies surrounding it, is the nearest human territory.” -- ___

__The Griffon did the Griffon equivalent of a nod, blinking once slowly. _\--”I know it. I will not frighten.” --_ She blinked again. _\--”Your territory?” --_ _ _

__It took Merlin only a moment to understand her question. _\--”My territory is that way, marked by lack of trees and an earthen structure. It is… free to roam.” --__ _

__The Griffon finished relaxing, letting herself lay on the ground. Relief seeped into Merlin, only to be quickly expelled as he remembered his second, more dangerous, problem._ _

__He turned around to deal with the problem, who was currently lying in the dirt. “Oh, shit.” His problem looked like he was dying._ _

__The problem seemed to be distracted from his own death. “You just—you talked to the beast!” he said, sounding awed. There was no way Merlin had actually heard awe in his voice._ _

__“Uhm.” Was the best he could manage._ _

__“Thank you. I owe you my life for saving mine.”_ _

__Okay, maybe Merlin hadn’t imagined the awe. “You’re dying,” was his very eloquent reply._ _

__“Not yet,” he said, pushing himself up onto an elbow. Arthur would love to knight this guy, even if only for that last comment. “I think I can make it to the citadel.”_ _

__“I can help.” Wow, Merlin couldn’t believe himself. He was just full of bright ideas. “Get well, I mean, not get to Camelot.” He just… gestured to himself. Because he was a sorcerer. And the stranger knew. And he was bringing it up again, on purpose, just to make sure the damn guy didn’t forget. For some reason._ _

__The stranger, who seemed unable to sit up further but was still trying, looked at him. “You would… heal me?”_ _

__“I… yeah. With…” Merlin gestured to himself again, and to the air around him. He couldn’t bring himself to say magic._ _

__The man, who Merlin was about to dub Sir Selfless-Curls in his mind, gave up on trying to sit up. “I’ll take you up on that. I’m Lancelot.”_ _

__“I’m uhh….. I can’t tell you that.” Fine, Merlin, but that’s rude. “I’m… Bird.”_ _

__The prospect of carrying Lancelot half and hour back to his home seemed daunting, especially now that Merlin had become very aware of his bare chest. Until a voice spoke up behind him._ _

___\--”I hurt your kin. Do you need assistance?” --_ _ _

__It was more that he could hope for, but still… _\--”Can you carry him to my nest?” --_ _ _

__The Griffon considered. _\--”Yes, your kin may ride on my back.” --_. She came over the few paces and settled by Lancelot, who very bravely—or foolishly—didn’t seem concerned. His attention was still on Merlin. _ _

__“That’s incredible.” He glanced next to him. The Griffon was close enough to touch. “Is she—is she letting me ride her?”_ _

__“You understood the conversation?” Merlin asked, surprised._ _

__“Only what you said, and you sounded strange.” He shifted slightly as Merlin helped him onto the Griffon’s back. “And your eyes glowed.”_ _

__Instinctually, Merlin glanced down, hiding his eyes. Still, he helped Lancelot settle across the Gryphon. He was almost lying across her back._ _

__“What’s her name?” The question broke the silence before it could get too strained._ _

__“I, uh.” Merlin repeated the question, aware of the stranger’s attention to his eyes as he spoke._ _

___\--”I am Mother. You know this.” --_ _ _

__Right. Merlin had been the first to call her that, actually._ _

__Lancelot seemed pleased. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, gently petting her feathered neck as they began walking. Mother clicked her beak appreciatively._ _

__“I want you to know, Bird,” Lancelot said, waiting for Merlin to meet his eyes before he continued, “that I will keep your home, your existence, and your Magic in confidence. If nothing else, take the life I owe you as assurance.”_ _

__This guy was dramatic, but also noble and loyal to a fault. He’d make an excellent knight._ _

__Merlin could say that he didn’t have much of a choice but to trust him, since he didn’t enjoy murder, but opted not to. “Thank you, Lancelot.”_ _

__***_ _

__They arrived at Merlin’s clearing quickly enough with the help of Mother. She was worried about her hatchlings spending too much time alone, though, and took off. Merlin half-supported, half-carried Lancelot into his cottage, thanking the goddesses that he had built himself a cot._ _

__“You have a tree growing inside your house?” Lancelot interrupted the silence as Merlin quickly put on a shirt, trying not to make it obvious that he had been shirtless for the entirety of their acquaintance._ _

__“The trunk of one, I suppose; it supports the roof.” Perhaps the fool had hit his head in addition to splitting open his side, Merlin thought, to be unconcerned by sorcery and to not understand the basics of literally holding a roof up._ _

__“But its growing _leaves_.”_ _

__Merlin glanced at his home’s main support and was startled to find that Lancelot was right. There, on one of the small branches Merlin had left in place, were three fresh, green leaves. He had not noticed them before. “Um, magic?” he said, now suspecting that those seemingly harmless pulses of magic he gave the tree, mostly for his own comfort, were showing unexpected results._ _

__He carefully opened Lancelot’s tunic, trying not to pull on the skin as the dried blood flaked away, and found binding already on his chest._ _

__“This is too tight for travelling in,” he said, tapping the corner of the binding on Lancelot’s uninjured side, “and for fighting Griffons in. Also, I’m going to have to cut it away to clean your wound.”_ _

__Lancelot nodded, looking slightly tense._ _

__“I have binding ribbon you can use once you’re healed, and I can wrap your chest in a less dangerous way,” Merlin said, filling the empty air with his words as he cleaned the wound, “and Gaius, the court physician of Camelot, should have remedies that can help.”_ _

__Lancelot visibly relaxed. “Thank you.”_ _

__Merlin understood, of course. People weren’t always friendly, and even friends could hurt you. He grabbed the bowl of golden healing potion, once again blessing his luck that he had finished brewing it that morning. “This is a magical healing potion; I know it works, but I don’t know how effective it will be, especially on a wound that deep.”_ _

__Lancelot nodded. “I am not afraid, Bird. You have shown me nothing but kindness.”_ _

__Merlin thought that was unfairly flattering of his virtues, but carefully applied the slightly viscous liquid to the gash on Lancelot side anyway. He watched in awe as the flesh came back together and the bruising faded. Once it was clear that the potion had had its full effect, Merlin carefully assessed for remaining damage. A thick, inflamed red line remained, and Merlin could tell that the muscle underneath wasn’t fully healed._ _

__“If you’re not careful, you could tear the cut back opened,“ he said, “and the potion didn’t completely heal what is under your skin, so you shouldn’t strain your muscles. You also lost a decent amount of blood, and you should rest until tomorrow before you head to Camelot.” It was a basic enough wound assessment, one of the basic physician skills Merlin had learned in his month with Gaius. Knights were always coming in with some bruise, scrape, cut, or gash, anyway, so Merlin was confident in his diagnosis._ _

__Lancelot stared at him._ _

__“What?” Merlin asked. Had the man somehow figured out he was Gaius’ apprentice? Oh shit, what if Lancelot knew Gaius? His stupid nickname wouldn’t save him then._ _

__Lancelot continued to stare for another second. “That’s incredible.”_ _

__“What.”_ _

__“My wound,” Lancelot said, and only his already apparent incredibly high levels of nobility kept him from sounding rude, “the potion has done weeks’ worth of healing in a matter of minutes. Thanks to _you_.” _ _

__“Oh.” Oh. “Well. Um. Thanks? But its not fully healed yet. You _must_ rest here tonight, if only to recover from your blood loss.” _ _

__Gaius had acknowledged Merlin’s talent (though Merlin had no way of assessing it himself, really), but besides that first instance when Merlin saved Gaius from falling, the old man had never expressed much awe or surprise. He was quite a bit flustered by Lancelot’s attention and praise, and just wanted to divert the damn conversation. He was a _secret_ sorcerer, and secret sorcerers didn’t receive praise. _ _

__Lancelot seemed to catch on, because he didn’t push the subject. “Thank you, again.”_ _

__Merlin could see the tiredness weighing heavily on Lancelot and told him to sleep. He protested a little, trying to give the cot to Merlin, who staunchly refused. He had learned a trick or two from Gaius, after all, and convinced Lancelot to keep his place with a well-timed raise of his eyebrow._ _

__With nothing much to do himself, Merlin followed Lancelot’s example a few minutes after the other man’s breathing slowed to a peaceful sleep._ _

__***_ _

__The next day rolled around, and Lancelot refused to leave. Merlin tried his damn best to get him to got to Camelot, telling him he needed a trained physician to look at his injury, telling him to go see Gaius so he wouldn’t need to bind his chest as often or as tightly, and any myriad of things. But Lancelot insisted, practically demanded Merlin let him pay him back for saving his life and treating him. He proved to be more stubborn than the warlock, so Merlin eventually gave up and let him stay._ _

__“But you will _not_ exert yourself. You’re still injured.” _ _

__Lancelot nodded. “I’ll hunt for you; your meat stores are running low.”_ _

__Merlin glared at the offending small stack of jerky, left out in the open because Merlin had nowhere to leave it out in the closed. He made a rather undignified sound. “What part of _not exerting yourself_ did you not understand? Hunting is exertion. Fool.” _ _

__And so, her marched his frustrating patient outside. “ _You_ ,” he said, jabbing Lancelot with his finger, “are going to help me plant a garden.”_ _

__So Merlin started mounding the dirt where it needed to be mounded, and fluffing it up basically everywhere, and making sure there was enough room for him to walk and for the plants to expand. He let Lancelot stamp down the areas Merlin would need to walk through, and let his patient grab a few long branches from the plentiful pile and stick them in the tomato mounds, and in the bean mounds, and in the squash mounds. Then, sensing the other man’s frustration, Merlin let him make all the trenches and holes for seeds. He threw his carrot seeds in the carrot patch and planted a ton of beets. Lancelot, with way more care than seeds needed, planted all the crawly things. A few more things were planted—lettuce, which should yield some harvest before it got too warm, and plenty of potatoes._ _

__Then, Merlin pulled out his prized possession from underneath his cot._ _

__“What is that?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin was glad to see that the little bit of sweat on the man showed no signs of being form overexertion._ _

__Merlin responded by holding up one highly dramatic finger, and slowly lifting the box’s lid to reveal a handful of strawberries._ _

__“Strawberries?” Lancelot asked, perhaps a little obviously._ _

__“Yep!” Merlin leaned forward, feeling giddy for a whole myriad of reasons, and whispered, “my favorite.”_ _

__He had refrained form using magic while they planted the garden, regardless of how pointless it was to deny his secret at this point. Now, however, Merlin was feeling rather bold. He grabbed a small bowl from the table and held a few of the strawberries up. With a flash of his eyes, the seeds all lifted from the fruit and placed themselves in the bowl. “Now,” he said, meeting Lancelot’s surprised (but in no way fearful, he was pleased to note) expression, “I can have infinite strawberries.” He popped one of the seedless strawberries in his mouth and grinned, holding out the other. His giddiness only flared higher when Lancelot took the offering with a matching grin and popped it into his own mouth._ _

__It was one thing to do magic freely when he was alone in his corner of the woods, and another entirely to freely do magic with someone standing right next to him in his corner of the woods. Standing and _admiring_ , of all things. _ _

__He totally wasn’t trying to impress Lancelot with the speed at which he stripped the remaining strawberries, not at all._ _

__As they planted the strawberry seeds in the beds closest to Merlin’s hut, Lancelot paused and looked up. “Can all sorcerer’s do that? The seeds, and the healing.”_ _

__“I don’t know,” Merlin said, opting for honesty. It felt good. “I haven’t really met any other sorcerers. Though I have—” he hesitated. Even with his secret out, this seemed like maybe-still-a-secret territory “—I have been told I’m powerful.”_ _

__***_ _

__Lancelot and Merlin sat amidst the freshly planted garden, basking in the sun. Well, Lancelot was in the shade directly next to Merlin, who insisted the man had exerted himself enough for the day._ _

__“Can you show me something?”_ _

__Merlin considered, eyes scanning the clearing for inspiration. His eyes fell on his home, and, remembering the fresh leaves discover the night before, had an idea._ _

__“Sure, but I’m not sure this going to work.” He leaned back slightly, placing his fingers on the edge of the strawberry beds, careful not to condense the dirt too much. Closing his eyes, he sent small magical pulses into the earth, just like he had done with the tree. He frowned and changed plans slightly, directing his magic more towards the seeds than what was surrounding them._ _

__“Bird!” Lancelot said, grabbing his shoulder. It took Merlin a moment to remember that that was the name he had given Lancelot. “Bird, look!”_ _

__Opening his eyes, Merlin watched as leaves continued to sprout from the ground and grow far quicker than anything had the right to. The sets of leaves gave way to more, branching and filling and growing out and up. Merlin laughed, as incredulous as Lancelot, and stopped his magic pulses just as the first flowers appeared._ _

__“I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed, earning a raised eyebrow from Lancelot, “I’m going to have strawberries in a matter of weeks!”_ _

__“You didn’t know you could do that?”_ _

__“No! I just—you saw the leaves on the tree yesterday, and I had fed it some magic, and thought maybe if I fed the strawberries magic they might grow a bit faster, but this--!”_ _

__They paused, looking at each other for a moment. Lancelot didn’t bother telling Bird how obvious it was that he had only just established himself in his little clearing, what with the previously unworked garden beds and the slightly shaky home that the sorcerer seemed so proud of. He also didn’t mention that, despite having no experience with magic himself, even he could tell the young man across from him severely underestimated his abilities. He could also see how young he was—a few years younger than himself, too young to be so clearly living in hiding. He could tell how fond Bird was of Camelot, what with how often he mentioned the court physician—Gaius, Lancelot had learned—the town, the people, and once, a moment the sorcerer hadn’t seemed to notice himself, an ‘Arthur’ that Lancelot suspected might just be prince Arthur. He could easily find out the young man’s name but didn’t find himself at all tempted. Despite his aspirations to be a knight, he had always had doubts surrounding the treatment of magic. Meeting Bird had crushed those doubts, quickly and firmly substituting them with a certainty that they were unfair. So unfair, in fact, that Lancelot was reconsidering if he wanted knighthood. Did he want to support laws that were so clearly unjust?_ _

__These thoughts all passed through his head in a matter of seconds without detracting from his good mood. He laughed with Bird, because really? Having power like that and not knowing? There was nothing to do about the revelation _but_ laugh at it. They practically danced around the clearing as Bird moved from bed to bed, feeding the earth magic and watching his plants grow, only to turn to trees and watch them bloom in seconds, before squeaking and running into the woods and returning a few minutes later with a handful of blueberries. Bird enthusiastically threw them at the ground across the clearing, and in a minute, had lush blueberry bushes mere steps from his home. He looked like a toddler that had just learned how to use their legs, moving around as quickly and as often as their shaky limbs could handle._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You _will_ respect trans Lancelot or I will publicly shame you. Trans rights, bitch. 
> 
> Also, is this my longest chapter yet? I think it is. 
> 
> If I cared about historical accuracy, Merlin would not have been able to plant potatoes. He wouldn’t even know they existed. I, however, don’t care about historical accuracy. 
> 
> Note: i'm going on family vacay and will not be posting for a week ish. I do have another chapter written already tho so i'll post that once im back. Feel free to give me feedback on the formatting for the beast-speech (idk what to call it). I apologize for any inconsistencies, I'm dead tired and made some last minute changes to the formatting.


	9. Arthur Rebels Tm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, much to his own frustration, has a brain that thinks thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I finally have wifi again. This chapter is short af but i'll post another tomorrow.

It had been a couple of weeks since Merlin had escaped and supposedly died, and Arthur was feeling treasonous indeed. 

He had committed the greatest treason of all: he had decided that Merlin had not done anything wrong. Sorcerer or no, he had deserved to live. And that treason seemed to whisper follow-up treasons in his ear: if Merlin was a sorcerer that didn’t deserve to die, maybe other sorcerers didn’t deserve to die either. Why should Merlin be an exception? He tried to swat those other thoughts away, because he really couldn’t handle more than one treason at a time. 

He sat at the dinner table with Morgana and his father, boldly eating his stake and potatoes, and boldly not making any eye contact or saying any treasonous things. Openly challenging his father would, at best, make the man extremely angry; at worst, he would think Arthur was enchanted, and start yet another witch hunt. Besides, it was Morgana’s job to be slightly treasonous. Arthur glanced at her now, watching her smile as she conversed with his father. He could never decide if he was jealous of her or infinitely glad he wasn’t in her position. Uther doted on Morgana in a way he never had on Arthur, and openly and frequently showed affection. That affection, however, was reserved for the right version of Morgana only. The amicable, friendly, loving ward that she brought with herself to dinners like these. Not that Morgan wasn’t friendly and loving, but more than that she was fierce and independent, had a strong, almost black-and-white sense of justice, and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. That was the Morgana Arthur loved like a sister, but when she let that version of herself shine through just a bit too much in front of Uther, his loving, doting façade would slip. Most frequently, he would laugh her off, calling them ‘one of her womanly moods;’ other times, he would get angry, truly angry, and yell at her. And so, Morgana acted, and Uther was kind. 

Arthur didn’t need to act because his father had never doted on him, leaving him without much to lose. He would occasionally pat Arthur on the back, even less frequently tell Arthur he was proud of him; most of the time, though, Arthur wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t ready to be a squire, wasn’t ready to be a knight, wasn’t ready to lead patrols, wasn’t ready to lead the kingdom. So Arthur didn’t need to act, and instead flipped between trying to earn those kind words and yelling at his father. He didn’t know if he was jealous of Morgana, or glad he wasn’t in her position.

In that very moment, though, Arthur was wondering if Morgana was a bit treasonous herself. He kept replaying the conversation they had soon after Merlin had escaped. _’he is cruel, Arthur, and has been wrong about many, many things,’ _she had said. Which could, of course, mean any of a myriad of things. She could have meant she though Arthur was worthy of love, or that he wasn’t disgusting and needn’t be ashamed of himself, or that magic users didn’t deserve to be burnt at the stake. Or all three, or none at all. He was hoping she was referring to the last one, though, because Arthur was getting quite tired of thinking on his own. Merlin was such a ludicrous creature, with his lack of respect for rank and authority, smart mouth, and seeming inability to feel fear or follow orders had taken Arthur so by surprise that he found himself treating the manservant like a friend. If this had been a few weeks ago, and Merlin hadn’t come out as a sorcerer and got himself banned, hunted, and maybe killed, Arthur would have been mulling his thoughts over with his help. But no, instead, Merlin was the source of his thoughts. So, Arthur sipped his wine, and tried to decide if he wanted to—or even could—trust Morgana. She liked to embarrass him but had always stood by his side when it had mattered. And she had, a couple of times, expressed distaste for the witch hunts. She hadn’t outright criticized them, not like Arthur was starting to think they should be criticized. She had always framed it as distaste for the spectacle, and not the execution itself. But Arthur knew very well how savvy Morgana was, and the way she had edged around treason in her criticism was exactly what Morgana would do if she was trying to compromise between her Uther’s Perfect Ward Façade and her own self.__

__By the time dinner ended, Arthur had decided that he could probably trust Morgana. He would give it time, though, before approaching her._ _


	10. Morgana and Her Badass Background Treasons <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Morgana could never sit quietly and do nothing as Uther does his stupid shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wasn’t planning on writing from Morgana’s perspective. I really wasn’t. But then I realized how fucking few woman characters are in the show, and that if I kept writing as I was, I might end up using none of them. So, I present: MORGANA. No regrets, she’s badass as fuck and a very dear to my heart. Enjoy.

Morgana had no doubt; she was jealous of Arthur. She would never in her life tell him, of course, because Arthur didn’t need any help inflating his ego. She was jealous of the freedom Uther allowed him in his disappointment, jealous of the way Arthur could speak his mind. She knew Arthur was jealous of her at times, jealous of Uther’s supposed affection. She had known him for years, after all, watched him work himself to the bone in the hopes of a pat on the back, or the lack of a scowl. She, on the other hand, had known Uther’s affection almost since the moment she stepped foot in the castle. Arthur didn’t know how it poisoned, how it seeped into her bones and made them brittle, kept her trapped.

She was so, so tired of acting. She was tired of pretending Gwen was only her maidservant. Tired of smiling, which always made her feel like her teeth didn’t fit in her mouth. Tired of listening and laughing as Uther belittled her, belittled Arthur, belittled other kingdoms or the people of his own. 

She was especially tired because she didn’t know how to stop. In those moments when she slipped and Uther showed her the anger usually reserved for Arthur, she was afraid. Because unlike Arthur, whose position was secure because he was the heir and his relationship to Uther had always been tense, she had a lot to lose. Her smiles hurt and her laughter rattled in her jawbone, but it was known territory. It was an act she played well. And if she risked it—if she broke her smile, spit in his face, like she wanted to? Would she still have a home, or would Uther send her away? Would she lose Guinevere and Arthur, the only family she had left? Would she be married to some Lord three times her age, and forced to bear children? 

So, she continued to act. But Morgana _exelled_ at living, and ruling, in the shadows. 

It had been Gwen’s idea, originally. Morgana had confided in her about how much she hated the witch hunts, how often they gave her nightmares and the way the screams of pain would echo in hear head. Gwen had wondered if there was a way to ease their pain in passing, so they couldn’t feel the flames. 

Morgana had hated it almost as much as the screaming the first time she had snuck into the cells and offered the prisoner sleeping poison. She felt like the stain of blood was being rubbed from Uther’s hands to hers. But when that prisoner had been led out—and older woman with mismatched eyes—she glanced around the crowd and met Morgana’s eyes. She saw the moment the woman bit into the poison, watched her slump against the pyre a few moments later. When the flames grew, she didn’t scream, and Morgana thought that maybe it was worth it. 

Now, years later, Morgana still took the sleeping poison to the prisoners the night before their execution. Sometimes Gwen did it instead, usually on the nights Morgana was forced to dine with Uther. She would make her way past the guards, often with a morsel of food, and place the items inside the bars. She would explain what the poison was, how quickly it would act, and offer it as an escape from the pain of burning. Sometimes they spat in her face, because she was Uther’s ward. Sometimes they thanked her. Sometimes they sat silently. Morgana was just glad that she hadn’t witnessed the Purge, that she had been just a babe, because Uther had burned very few children since then, and none since Morgana had moved into the palace. She would take the poison herself before watching a child decide between death by fire or death by sleep. 

She and Gwen almost singlehandedly reorganized the servants. Uther didn’t care for them, thought them disposable in every sense. Morgana and Gwen were the ones who adjusted their pay, who made sure they had a few days of rest at least every other week, made sure they were fed. If Uther knew, he never said. 

Some of the accomplishments she was most proud of, though, happened during those dinners she hated so dearly. Uther often discussed his plans for the kingdom, the taxes he would change, the villages he would or wouldn’t help. Morgana, acting and manipulations skills hardened and sharp through years of use for her own survival, were now turned against Uther for the survival of others. Sometimes, Morgana managed to sway him. Uther was not a king that cared much for his people. 

Then Merlin had waltzed into the palace and saved Arthur’s life. Then, he was a sorcerer; now, he was dead. 

And Morgana found her anger at the executions growing, settling in her stomach and warming her bones. When Merlin had been taken to the dungeons, Morgana had broken down. She had never known any of the previous prisoners she had helped, even if she remembered all their faces. She had become friendly with Merlin, though, had appreciated the way he balanced Arthur and wasn’t afraid to talk smart with her. She couldn’t imagine offering him, offering a friend, the choice between one death and another. 

She owed it to him, though, perhaps more than she owed it to anyone else, precisely because he was her friend. So, she had steeled herself, kissed Gwen for courage, and gone down into the dungeons at a much later time than usual. The cell had been empty. 

Gwen had been ecstatic at the news. She knew Merlin had revealed himself to spare her, spare her the blame and the fire. Gwen had cried and cried, more even than Morgana, because instead of watching her father burn, she was going to watch her friend. 

The witch hunt following his escape had been brutal, but with Merlin as the target, other innocents were spared the blame. Morgana was glad because the sleeping poison no longer felt like enough. 

Now, weeks later, she was waiting for Gwen in her chambers. She had a new plan. They couldn’t break anyone out of the dungeons; it was too dangerous and risked sparking a large-scale hunting and burning. 

But Uther couldn’t burn sorcerers he couldn’t find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: *me, writing these last two chapters:* the sibs can have some of my daddy issues, as a treat. Also Morgana is ace! It’ll become more obvious but this chapter is the first hint.


	11. Gaius says Trans Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot takes a trip to the doctor. Merlin gets up to some shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *makes a buffer*
> 
> *barely writes for 2 weeks*
> 
> *has no more buffer*

As it turns out, down time did have its consequences. Merlin had started having nightmares, which he discovered as Lancelot shook him back into consciousness. 

“Bird? Are you awake?”

Merlin blinked, trying to shake the image of the witch being impaled by a chandelier out of his mind. She was the first person he had killed. “Yeah. Bad dream. Did I wake you up?” 

Lancelot didn’t pry, bless his knightly heart. “No; if anything, you were sleeping in.” 

“Guess I can’t experience the small pleasures even now that I’m fired.” Merlin stretched, loosening his back after another night on the floor. “How about we head to Camelot today?” 

“I don’t mean to pry, Bird, but I had assumed you couldn’t be seen in the citadel?” 

“You assumed correctly. But it doesn’t matter if they don’t recognize me, does it?” Merlin reached for the book of enchantments Gaius had given him when he first arrived in Camelot, which now lived in his home instead of the book shed. He should repurpose the little construction for something, he was too fond of it to let it go to waste. He flipped through it, looking for a spell he knew he had seen. 

Finding the right page, he looked up at Lancelot, grinning. “Think anyone will recognize me if I’m eighty?” 

***

“Lancelot save me, this is awful. My bones, they all hurt!” 

“I suspect that is what happens when one is so old, Bird.” 

“Ugh. It might be worth it to die young, then. Also, maybe you shouldn’t call me Bird when I look like this… how about…” he cast his mind out, trying to think of something, “DRAGOON!” Merlin flung his arms out dramatically and cracked in seven different places. “Ugh.” 

Lancelot, who was standing beside him, practically lost it in a fit of laughter. It was the least noble Merlin had seen him look, and he rather enjoyed it.

“Now, come here,” Merlin said, curling a finger, “and I can help you bind your chest.” 

Lancelot hesitated. “I… I’ve never had anyone help me before,” he confessed. 

Merlin perched himself on the bed, and his knees felt so relieved he was worried he would never be able to stand back up. “If you want to try doing it yourself, I can explain it. But you can’t bind your chest the way you had before, not with your injury still healing. In general, you want to distribute the pressure as much as possible or you can hurt your ribs.” Merin had found out the hard way, back in Ealdor, when his friend has passed out. “If it makes you more comfortable, I used to help my friend, Will, all the time.” 

Lancelot nodded once, determined. “Alright.” 

Merlin kept up a constant stream of complaints about how dry his joints were and how his old fingers would fall off before he managed to finish, but worked quickly and professionally, and didn’t hesitate anywhere. 

Once he was done, he handed Lancelot his shirt back. “Can you breathe comfortably?” 

Lancelot inhaled once, deeply, before blowing the air back out. “Yes.” 

“Good. You’ll be able to do it more tightly when you’re fully healed if you want to. But now, we have business in Camelot!” 

He grabbed his bag, filled with herbs he had gathered for Gaius, and started the walk. Merlin was sure the long walk would feel even longer with his old man bones, and made a mental note to cast the spell much closer to Camelot next time. 

***

Merlin was right; the walk had felt even longer now that he was eighty. It was worth it, though, to be able to walk through the citadel in broad daylight. He bought a fresh, warm loaf of bread and chewed on it as he led Lancelot through the lower town towards the castle. He saw plenty of people he recognized, and even spied Tenn from a distance, but no one noticed him. Still, he avoided the streets that had guards in them almost on instinct as he led Lancelot to the castle’s public entrance. 

“Are commoners usually allowed to see the royal physician?” Lancelot asked, curious. 

“It’s not unusual,” Merlin answered, “though I don’t know how aware Uther is of it. Gaius will help anyone he can, but he does have to prioritize the royal family.” Stairs, great. Merlin was about to hate these stairs. “The town does have… several midwives… and…” he said, between breaths, “and most of the town knows how to nurse… a cold… and whatnot…” he paused at the top of the stairs, “so they usually only… come in… for more serious ailments.” 

It was quick going form there to Gaius’ chambers. 

“Gaius, old friend!” Merlin said, barging in without knocking. He hoped that was enough of a hint to help Gaius figure out who he was. “I come bearing gifts!”

Gaius’ eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t immediately sell Merlin out, which was good. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Yes, well, I didn’t tell you I was coming, did I? How could you have expected me?” He sniffed a vial on the table and grimaced, putting it back down with a soft _clack_. “No matter. I promised you herbs and I bring you herbs!” That caught Gaius’ attention, so Merlin let his eyes flash gold. It took a moment, but Gaius’ eyes flashed understanding and the old man nodded. 

“You know your visits are welcome any time, friend, even without gifts,” he said, examining the herbs Merlin was handing him. “Who is this young man?” 

Lancelot stepped forward on his own. “My name is Lancelot. Dragoon was kind enough to show me the way here. I was hoping you could help me with… a problem of mine.” 

“He is a friend,” Merlin added on, hoping Gaius understood. The raised eyebrow meant he did. That was good, Merlin thought. Now, when Gaius brought out the good potions, he could explain them fully if he wanted too. 

In a few quick motions, Merlin finished placing the herbs he had collected on the table and excused himself. These conversations tended to be vulnerable, and when Merlin had mentioned leaving quickly on the walk Lancelot hadn’t complained. Besides, Merlin had a few things he intended to get done while in the Citadel. Before he managed to get out the door, though, Gaius called out to him. “Dragoon? Be careful, I hear there is a Griffon on the loose.” 

Ah. That wasn’t good. Merlin would have to keep an eye on Mother. She was fairly deep in the forest, though, and Merlin didn’t feel the need to rush back. She couldn’t be hurt by anything the knights could throw at her, anyway, and he was fairly sure (hoped) she wouldn’t fight to kill if she had to defend herself. He continued on with his original plan, cackling softly to himself. 

***

Merlin could not _believe_ he managed to sneak into Arthur’s quarters. He just couldn’t. He fully intended to, of course, and was glad he did, but it was too easy! He decided that he desperately needed to find warding spells and thoroughly ward Arthur’s chambers in case some other mildly competent angry sorcerer had the bright idea of murdering the prince in his sleep. 

Still, he had a job to do. With a flash of his eyes, Merlin moved all the furniture in the room around by a couple of finger widths. Then, he polished Arthur’s armor to a mirror-like shine and cleaned his boots while he was at it. He pulled out Arthur’s favorite tunic and darkened its color slightly with another flash of his eyes. Was this stupid and dangerous? Yep. Merlin couldn’t help himself, though. The prat deserved some unplaceable confusion, after all the chores he had given Merlin. He hoped Arthur stubbed his toes twice a day for a week before getting used to the new furniture arrangement. For good measure, and in a fit of inspiration, Merlin tightened the waistband of one of Arthur’s trousers. 

Merlin glanced around the room. It was a damn mess. Had Arthur not hired a new manservant, or was he just in a bad mood? There were clothes, shoes, and papers thrown around everywhere. His poor manservant, assuming he existed (after another glance, Merlin was pretty sure the room would be in even worse shape is he didn’t’) was probably run ragged, especially if Arthur gave him as many tasks as he gave Merlin. He had only managed to do the job because he used his magic half of the time! He decided to help the poor theoretical manservant out and tidied the room with a couple waves of his hand. Huh. That had been quicker than he thought it would be. 

***

Lancelot was grateful when Bird. Dragoon? Left the room. The physician’s questions were necessary, he knew, but Lancelot had never been very open about the specifics of his discomfort, even among friends he trusted. 

“This salve will probably make your chest ache, and it needs to sit on your skin for several hours, so I suggest applying it in the evenings, once you have taken off your bindings.” Gaius handed him a cream-colored vial. “This one is to be applied to your face, wherever you wish to encourage hair growth, and will be absorbed quickly by your skin. This one is to be drunk daily and will help with some of the other changes we discussed. Dissolve two drops in some water. Any more than two drops will make you sick.” These vials were blue and brown, respectively. Lancelot looked up, ready to thank the physician, but saw some hesitation in the man’s eyes and kept quiet. “I suggest…” Gaius said, “that you do not seek any… magical help, while taking these potions. If that is something you wish, stop using these and wait a month.” He met Lancelot’s eyes purposefully. 

Lancelot, to his credit, understood the implications very well. The _court phisican_ was practicing magic within the castle. Well, potioneering magic, at the very least. He reached out and grabbed one of Gaius’ wrists. “Thank you,” he said, eyes meeting. The old man relaxed imperceptibly. Gaius and Bird must have been close, for the physician to be so willing to trust Lancelot after only one slightly cryptic statement. 

As Lancelot gathered his potions, hands trembling with excitement at their promise, he couldn’t help but ask another question. “Is this something you often help people with?”

Gaius’ smile made Lancelot realize that the old man actually did have a lot of laughter lines. “Quite frequently. You are far from alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIND RESPONSIBLY, KIDS, AND DON’T USE THIS FIC/CHAPTER AS BINIDNG ADVICE I’M BEGGING YOU. The story is set in a very non-modern world, so Lancelot doesn’t have access to binders or sports bras. DO NOT BIND WITH BANDAGES. I used a combination of research and imagination to figure out the safest way for Lancelot to bind with stuff he probably had access to but DON’T USE THIS AS BINDING ADVICE AND DON’T BIND WITH BANDAGES. TAKE BREAKS. 8 HOURS IS THE USUAL RECOMMENDED LIMIT. Do your research, ask a trusted friend to do it for you, or use a public computer. Stay safe, things get better.   
> Also, do you expect me to believe that gaius actually gave up magic entirely and completely? That he was actually loyal to Uther? They never explain that in the show. I will, eventually (I hope) write my own explanation as to why Gaius stuck around during and after the purge, but I’m not sure when.


	12. Deja-Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot wanders around and Arthur swears he's had this conversation before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok let’s see if I can get through this chapter without accidentally writing ‘Merlin’ instead of ‘Bird’ *lasts 1 sentence*

Now that he was in the citadel, Lancelot decided to explore Camelot. He had gotten glimpses of it when Bird was dragging him around (surprisingly quickly for an old man) but hadn’t had the opportunity to linger. It was beautiful, with the light grey stone of the castle and the myriad of wide roads and well-kept homes. Even the lower town, with its narrower streets and denser crowds, felt cared for. He wandered back towards the castle, appreciating the bustling market and spending precious coin on a fresh peach just to feel the tickle of its fuzz against his calloused hands. He watched as a young woman with pretty curls conversed with a much shorter resident whose hair was wrapped in an orange cloth. The shorter of the two worried at their lip and glanced around, shaking their head. The taller woman crossed her arms for a moment before reaching out and gently taking hold of the other’s wrist. 

Lancelot looked away. Whatever their conversation was about, it was clearly private. He contented himself with watching children run through the stalls causing trouble, or helping their parents and grandparents manage their fares. 

Peach done, he wiped some juice off his chin and continued walking back towards the castle, towards Gaius’s chambers, where the physician had insisted he spend the night to make sure the potions didn’t have adverse side effects, when he heard yelling and clanging metal. Curious, Lancelot followed the sound to what looked like training grounds. 

Prince Arthur wasn’t hard to pick out. For one, he was clearly in charge of training the other nights, but mostly because the prince’s golden hair was a popular topic of conversation among those even slightly enamored with him. Lancelot watched as he corrected the form of some of the knights and stood by as they repeated their drills.

Lancelot frowned as Prince Arthur called over his manservant, said something to him, and laughed as he tripped the other man. Arthur’s manservant picked himself back up, bowed hastily, and ran to retrieve a shield. Lancelot’s frown deepened as Arthur called his knights to stop drilling with their axes and pick up crossbows. 

Once the manservant started running across the field, being shot at by crossbows—some bolts of which flew suspiciously low, and almost hit his legs instead of the shield—Lancelot was feeling quite frustrated. The manservant reached the end of the field and turned around, only to be shot at more as he ran in the opposite direction. 

Lancelot knew there were much simpler, safer ways to practice with moving targets. He had used several of them himself, in his years of training. When the manservant tripped and dropped the target, and Arthur cracked a joke about flaming arrows and encouragement, Lancelot stepped onto the field. 

“That’s enough.” 

Prince Arthur looked at him, startled, and Lancelot thought he might have seen a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “What?” 

“I will take your manservant’s place, sire.” 

“Do I know you?” 

“I have spent my whole life dreaming of becoming a knight of Camelot,” Lancelot said, ignoring the question, “but I see no honor in abusing those you have power over. I will be a much better target than your manservant, sire, and I ask to take his place.” 

Lancelot thought Arthur looked much more confused than the situation warranted. Either he’d let Lancelot take his manservant’s place, or, more likely, Lancelot would be thrown in the stocks for disrespecting royalty. He could already see some angry gestures from the assembled knights, along with the anxious but thankful face of Arthur’s manservant. Lancelot nodded in the other man’s direction. 

“Well then,” Arthur said, “lets see how you fair behind the shield, and _then_ maybe I’ll listen to your talks of honor.” 

Not the stocks, then. Lancelot was sure Bird would talk his ear off about how running around holding a shield and bracing against arrows was not taking it easy on his injury, but he wasn’t about to back down. He did brace the shield against his good side, though, even if it was his less dominant side. 

And he really was a better moving target than the manservant. He backstepped a couple of times, pulling uncomfortably at his wound, to make sure the prince’s arrow missed its target. He saw the prince’s eyebrows shoot up, both impressed by the skill and annoyed at the continued insubordination. 

After a couple of minutes, the prince raised his hand and the arrows stopped. “What is your name?”

“Lancelot, sire.” 

“Well, Lancelot. If you’re as good with a sword as you are with a shield, perhaps I’ll keep you out of the stocks.” 

Huh. Well, Lancelot was nothing if not good with a sword. 

***

A few minutes later prince Arthur was punching Lancelot’s shoulder like they were old friends. Even the knights, who previously looked quite frustrated with the prince’s leniency, seemed to have softened their expressions. 

“Few people can hold against me that long, Lancelot. Tell me what family you come from and I’ll have you knighted immediately.” 

“My mother’s name was Brea and my father’s name was Lyndon; I come from a small village on the northern border that was all but wiped out when I was a child.”

Arthur seemed surprised. “You’re not a noble? How did you learn swordsmanship so well?” 

“After my village was attacked, I took it on myself to learn. I had a few mentors, who I am grateful to. It was thanks to them and the dangers I faced travelling that I learned as well as I have.” 

“Only nobility can be knighted, per my father’s traditions, but we could always use a good man like you, Lancelot. I’ll put in a good word.” 

“Thank you, sire,” Lancelot said, and for all his usual candor and honesty, he didn’t have the heart to tell the prince that he was questioning his lifelong aspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the main reasons I first head cannoned Lancelot as trans—his name. that is *such* a self-picked trans name. I imagine young Lancelot, finally getting his hands on a lance to practice with and thinking *yes, THIS is my name*.
> 
> I’m mostly happy with my name but sometimes I imagine other things at its always like. Leaf. Saffron. Dirt. What if I were…. Dragon. Rice. Adas (ah-daahss). Idk man. Steam.


	13. All Knights are Bastards (sorta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Lancelot have a chat

A few days after he had first unveiled Dragoon, Merlin was on his stomach in the grass, staring at the little flowers that would eventually turn into strawberries, watching ants and flying critters climb around his plant. He knew, of course, that he could simply give the plant more magic and have strawberries almost instantly. He didn’t want to, though. He liked the excitement of watching nature take its course with the plant—besides, after the accidentally revived a dead tree with his magic, he wasn’t sure what eating entirely magical strawberries would do to him. The tree in question was not just growing inside of his small house anymore, either. Merlin had been forced to rearrange his roofing in order to accommodate for the tree, which was now attempting to grow right out of the house. He just hoped it didn’t compromise the stability of his home; waking up in a mess of mud and straw would _not_ put him in a good mood. 

“Bird? Are you well?” 

Merlin rolled over onto his back and looked up at his guest. “Lancelot! Welcome back. Wait—” he rolled back over and sat up, “how did you find your way back?” 

“You seem to have worn a rudimentary train between here and the edge of the forest by Camelot, friend.” Lancelot smiled. “That, and I remembered most of the path.” 

“Ah, damn. I’m going to have to hide my trail somehow.” 

Lancelot came and sat by Merlin. “Are the strawberries not ripe yet?” 

“No, I’m letting them finish naturally. I was worried I’d over-magic them and end up with a strawberry bush instead of hair.” 

“I think you’d look charming.”

“Yes, well, it would be convenient, wouldn’t it? Snacking anywhere I wanted to.” Merlin grinned. “Though it would make it even more difficult for me to sneak into Camelot if I had such an obvious sign of magic on my head.” They watched as a bumblebee scared off an adorably small ant and took a whole flower to itself. “So, what brings you back to my humble home? I imagined you’d want to explore the joys of Camelot and work your way up to knighthood.” 

“I met prince Arthur,” Lancelot started. Merlin settled more comfortably in his seat, realizing that his answer would be long. “I stopped him from harassing his manservant.” 

Merlin couldn’t help it—he laughed. “I’m sorry, its just—I did something similar and got thrown into the stocks for my troubles. I assume you got similar treatment?” 

Lancelot shook his head. “That is what I expected, despite offering to take his manservant’s place. Instead, he took me up on my offer, then he challenged me to a duel and offered me a knighthood.” 

“He would, wouldn’t he.” 

Lancelot raised an eyebrow but continued his story. “When I told him I was common-born, he told me that traditionally only nobles are knighted, then offered to discuss my case with his father. The issue is, Bird, that I am no longer sure I want to be a knight.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I had always questioned the laws regarding magic, but they felt few and far away in the north, where I’m from. There were even a few known sorcerers in my village, though we didn’t discuss it and they never performed magic publicly. It wasn’t enough doubt to dissuade me from my knighthood. Meeting you and seeing the reality of your persecution in Camelot’s core made me realize that the version of the laws I grew up with is not the norm. Being a knight would mean upholding those laws—Bird, I’d have to arrest sorcerers, or be arrested myself for refusing. And then I met the prince and he was a mess of contradictions—taking advantage of his servant, but reacting graciously to my disrespect, then looking past my station as a peasant and affirming that he _still_ wanted me as a knight, despite the king’s traditions.” He rand his hand through his hair again, then touched his cheek. “Yet my only skills lie in battle, and I want to defend those who can’t defend themselves. I will not serve a king who kills innocents, and I do not want to serve a prince who disrespects those in his care. I do want to serve a prince who can look past traditions and assess situations as he sees fit. I do not know what I want, Bird.” 

Merlin laid back down, closing his eyes in the sun. “I’ve struggled with something similar. My name—my real name—is Merlin, and I was Arthur’s manservant for a month. I came to Camelot so Gaius could teach me to control my magic, which was even more erratic then than it is now. I met a dragon who is imprisoned under the castle who told me that Arthur was destined to unite all of Albion and set magic users free. Then, I saved the prince from being murdered by a sorceress and was rewarded with my position as his manservant. It was only a month, but I saved his life a couple more times—all with my magic. It seemed impossible, that the absolute incarnation of arrogance could do something so great, and I resented my role in this destiny the dragon won’t shut up about. But during that month, short as it may have been, I think I realized something.”

He rolled over to look at Lancelot. “All Arthur knows about being a person, and being a prince, he learned from Uther, and Arthur is desperate for his approval. But he is nothing like his father. That mess that you witnessed on the training grounds is a mess I saw almost every day—the war between what Uther taught him and expects of him, and what he could be. He’ll never get there if he doesn’t have someone to tell him different, though. Someone to challenge his ideas. So even though I revealed my magic in front of Uther himself, I stayed in Camelot. I’ve chosen to believe in the dragon’s prophecy, at least until Arthur shows himself incapable of change. But I’m not the nagging, bumbling manservant who never shuts up anymore. I’m not there to challenge him with thoughts uncomfortably close to treason, so I don’t know what will lead him to change.

You have only just met Arthur, and you’ve never met the dragon, and I’m not asking you to make the same decision I did. There are other ways to help people with your sword arm, after all. I’m sure there are plenty of villages that would dearly appreciate someone with the skills of a knight. Even in Camelot itself—the merchants travel far and are always looking for protection. It’s quite different, but if you decide you don’t want knighthood, you still have options. But if you do decide to continue pursuing knighthood, I won’t resent you. On the scale of things, what I’m doing might be much worse. Besides,” Merlin said, grinning, “I have a strong suspicion that you wouldn’t even hesitate and would arrest yourself instead of whatever sorcerer you were pointed to.” 

Lancelot smiled. “I suspect you might be right. Thank you, Merlin. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* if cops wanted to prove they weren’t all bastards they could take a page from Lancelot’s book and arrest each other instead of protesters. Imagine!
> 
> The title of the chapter was more of a… joke/pun, because I imagine the knights of Camelot don’t have the same history as policing in our world/the US (or as long of a history), but the main idea stands—if you willingly work a job based around the suppression of citizens and steeped in a long, internally unchallenged racist history, you’re kind of a dick. The whole destiny thing with Arthur also makes the choices Lancelot is making a bit greyer, too, so the poor guy is really going to be doing some deep thinking. And yes I think all cops are bastards :)
> 
> Also my classes start on Monday so I don’t know how often I’ll be posting, but I’m not abandoning the project.


	14. Stubbed toes and adoptive Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite couple gets ready to commit treason, and Arthur frolics in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all my romance repulsed friends out there: this chapter does have a more explicitly romantic scene between Gwen and Morgana with some cuddling and pet names. 
> 
> Its in the section that starts with "That afternoon, as Arthur was galivanting about in the woods, Morgana and Gwen had a hushed conversation in Morgana’s chambers." It does have some plot significance, so if you want a romance free summary let me know!
> 
> And now to my authorly shenanigans: turns out there’s a limit to how much deliciously creamy hot chocolate you can drink before it becomes unfortunately creamy hot chocolate

Arthur didn’t know why he kept stubbing his toe. The amount of time he had spent pacing certainly didn’t help, and he seemed to kick something every few turns. He had been in the room for over a _decade_ and he hadn’t moved the furniture around in _years_ so why the _fuck_ was he kicking his _fucking bed?_ He threw his goblet across the room, only to be irritated at it for clattering softly instead of shattering. And his _father_! Insisting that tradition didn’t allow for Lancelot to be knighted when the tradition only went as far back as Uther himself. Lancelot had gone to meet a friend he had met on his way to Camelot, and Arthur dearly hoped to welcome him back with good news, but it wasn’t looking likely. 

He knew he had been irritable lately, and he knew his inner turmoil regarding the laws on magic was the cause. But on the training grounds he had felt good, he had felt sure, he _knew_ that Lancelot deserved a knighthood for his skills. But the things his father had said! Not only had he denied his request, but he had also been so incredibly _rude_ about it. And, and! That morning, his trousers hadn’t fit! Arthur _knew_ he hadn’t put on any weight. He had been training _harder_ that usual. There was no reason for his trousers not to fit!

He kicked his table.

“FUCK!” 

***

Morgana sat at her vanity, brushing her hair, and waiting for Gwen. It had taken a few days, but Gwen had found one of her father’s clients and convinced them to meet with her “friend.” Gwen’s friend being, of course, Morgana. It was risky. They didn’t know how powerful this socerex was, and Morgana doubted anyone knew about her endeavors with the sleeping poison. She would, most likely, be immediately perceived as an enemy. And she had to admit she was slightly afraid. Other than Merlin, Morgan had never known a sorcerer, and she hadn’t known Merlin _as_ a sorcerer. As much as she hated Uther’s rhetoric, it seemed even she wasn’t immune to being raised in his household. 

Despite Uther’s best attempts, though, she knew magic wasn’t evil. It simply reflected its user. 

So she sat, brushing through her hair, which by now was quite smooth and silky and didn’t need any more brushing. Morgana was restless, though, and she didn’t want to sit completely still. Soon Gwen would come, and they could discuss their evening plans. 

***

Arthur knew he needed to do something about his irritation. Birdsong was starting to aggravate him, and even he knew that finding birdsong irritating was a step too far on the irritation scale. Rumors of a large, flying creature were still floating about the citadel, and he decided that hunting that creature was the release he needed. It hunted humans as its sole prey, apparently. Probably magical. Perfect, really. Evil magic he had to kill and didn’t have to think about, and something he could use to stab out the annoyance currently directed at his father. 

He barely knew the man, but he would have happily ridden out with Lancelot at his side. 

His frown deepened. 

Now that he thought about it (which he really didn’t want to), he had not left the citadel since Merlin’s… he had not left the citadel in quite some time. This was good. He hoped his frown looked determined and princely, because he didn’t have the patience to school his expression as he rode through the lower town. The residents watched him pass, and he observed them passively. He wondered how many worked at the castle. Lancelot had been right—to challenge Arthur like that. There was no honor in using his manservant as a punching bag, regardless of how convenient it was. And though he loathe to admit it, the emotional relief it offered him was momentary at best. 

They rode out through the gates and towards the forest. Flying creatures were much harder to track, but this beast—Gaius had called it a griffon—was supposedly larger than a horse, so it was bound to leave evidence of it’s passing. He kept an eye out for large disturbances as he led his horse in a roughly uphill direction, guided largely by instinct. The beast had the head of an eagle, after all, but could hardly perch on trees. It seemed likely enough that the griffon would choose to haunt higher ground. 

***

That afternoon, as Arthur was galivanting about in the woods, Morgana and Gwen had a hushed conversation in Morgana’s chambers. 

Morgana’s chambers were almost completely guaranteed to be private, now that Merlin wasn’t around to burst into rooms randomly and without knocking, but still, one does not discuss treason in a normal tone of voice. They sat on the large bed, legs interlocking and knees bumping against each other occasionally, hands held between them, speaking quietly. They were the perfect picture of two women in love, speaking of each other’s love without a care in the world—until you heard their conversation. 

“I finally convinced them to meet with you. They were very suspicious that I didn’t want to give them your name, and refused to let us meet anyone else—they entirely denied the existence of other sorcerers in Camelot, even though my father has helped more than one, over the years. Still, I managed to convince them to meet us.” Gwen leaned forward, grasping Morgana’s other hand. “They were quite cross, though, and made some vague threats. I know you know this but be careful.”

“I know, love.” Pet names were not a habit between them, since they didn’t want to risk slipping up in public, but in quiet moments before dangerous excursions—such as the one they were currently planning—they liked to express as much affection as possible. “As long as they don’t curse me on the spot, I should be able to argue my case. I can’t blame them if they do curse me—they have no reason to trust the Uther’s ward.” 

“I’ll be back tonight with a simple dress for you to wear.” She stroked Morgana’s cheek. “I know how important this is to you. It will go well; I can feel it.”

They continued to share their quiet moment. It was one of Morgana’s favorite forms of companionship, to simply hold Gwen and be held by her. She knew some people wanted more, needed more, from their partners, but she never had. Gwen was more than content. She loved the little bits Morgana gave sometimes, the occasional kisses, the rare touches—she loved them in the moments they came, and never expected more. She was happy to receive the uncommon displays of physical affection because, in those moments, Morgana was happy to give them. She would be just as content if Morgana never kissed her again, if Morgana’s fingers in her hair were the most intimate touches she’d experience for the rest of her life. 

***

The most intimate touches Arthur was receiving were threats of dagger-like talons in his face. He had been quite successful in his hunt for the Griffon and was now dealing with the consequences. The creature was much larger than anything he had ever seen, and was so much larger than a horse he would have called the comparison unfair, if he’d known of any other animal he cold compare it to instead. It was busy bucking and slashing at him with its birdlike front claws, screeching and beating its wings. 

One of the knights he’d brought with him couldn’t get his horse close enough to even try attacking the beast with his sword. The other two were unconscious, one of them bleeding. Another crossbow bolt bounced harmlessly off the creature’s feathers. With a monstrous leap, it sailed over Arthur and pinned the furthest knight under its talons, knocking the man out. 

Arthur, desperate to keep himself facing the Griffon, roughly turned his horse around.

“Sire!” Lancelot called, dashing out of the trees slightly to the Griffon’s right. He immediately stood his ground between Arthur and the Griffon. 

“Lancelot!” Before Arthur could tell the man that the Griffon seemed to be invulnerable to weapons, and that Lancelot wasn’t a knight and had no duty to give his life for the kingdom, and to let Arthur kill it or die trying alone, the Griffon screeched into the sky and Arthur fell unconscious. 

***

Merlin and Lancelot had heard the Griffon’s screaming and immediately run through the forest. Merlin’s constant stream of swearing was more eloquent than any Lancelot had heard before, and in between his creative and sometimes disgusting choice of words Merlin threw in some words about having forgotten what a selfless prat Arthur was, and of course he had come out to kill the Griffon, couldn’t he have waited until Merlin had remembered to do something about it? 

Merlin had also cast the beast-speak spell, and with his eyes glowing gold, informed Lancelot that Mother wasn’t attacking to kill, but he also wasn’t sure if she knew how to attack humans without killing them. Especially when Arthur was incredibly, unluckily close to her nest and her hatchlings. 

Lancelot had run out into the clearing, hoping to distract Arthur long enough for Merlin to find a discrete spot and do something. He noticed Mother recognize him and hesitate, and somewhere underneath Arthur calling his name and Mother’s screech he heard Merlin’s voice calling out a spell, and suddenly the prince slumped on his horse and collapsed. 

Merlin immediately ran out into the clearing, whispering sorries, and her nest was safe now, and the golden one was only trying to protect _his_ nest, and they didn’t know she wasn’t a danger, and they must have seen her, and she must stop hunting the slow, stained horses on the fields, and only Merlin could understand her, and also stop hunting the small white birds, that was food for the large, stone, human nest, and could they please have one of her feather’s to stop the nest-warriors form coming back. 

He handed the feather to Lancelot. “Congratulations, friend, you’ve killed a Griffon.” He cast another spell, and a large number of trampled leaves turned in to feathers. It looked like a reasonably large bird had died, which Lancelot supposed was the intended effect. “Griffons are actually invulnerable to ordinary weapons, so if Arthur asks, tell him you struck a blow to the feline portion of the belly, or something oddly specific like that. It will sound less suspicious than if you just muse about a generic lucky shot. Arthur may be daft, but he is a damn good knight.”

Merlin then explained to Mother what the plan was, and to please stay hidden and to hunt on the other side of the mountain range, and then had an interesting-sounding argument because apparently Griffons have a strong sense of honor and faking ones death was not acceptable, because then no one could challenge you.

 _\--"The golden one and his nest aren’t challengers, Mother. They’re more like… frightened hatchlings who know no better.”--_

_\--"Hatchlings must be told better!”--_

_\--"Well, the golden one’s father doesn’t know better either. He likes to stab anything that frightens him.”--_

_\--"Bad father. Golden Mother?”--_

_\--“Passed away. Dead.”---_

She walked over to Arthur’s slumped form, frightening his horse, and nudged at him with her beak. _\--“I am Mother. Golden Mother.”--_ She then, carefully, carefully, started to groom Arthur’s hair as she would have her own hatchlings' feathers. 

After a short conversational interlude, in which Merlin laughed so hard he had a few accidental bursts of magic resulting in a couple of beautiful lilac flowers and the dancing of his feather-leaves, Merlin managed to convince Mother that no, she could not take Arthur back to her nest, and thank you for the feather, and to hunt on the other side of the mountain range to keep out of site of Camelot. It seemed she had forgotten of her faked-death and Merlin didn’t bother reminding her. 

With Mother safely returned to her nest and Merlin concealed somewhere nearby, Lancelot waited for the prince to wake up. He suspected Merlin may have interfered, because he woke up rather quickly. 

“Lancelot? What… where is the Griffon?” 

“I killed it, sire.” If Lancelot didn’t like lying, it certainly didn’t show on his face.

“How? None of our blows did anything.”

“I nearly broke my sword striking it in the neck, but when I struck against the feline underbelly it disintegrated, leaving only feathers behind. Seems it had a weak spot.” 

Arthur nodded. “I suppose it wasn’t invulnerable everywhere, then.” He sat up and gripped Lancelot’s shoulder. “You saved my life, and risked yours even when you weren’t duty-bound to do so. My father has, unfortunately, refused my request to knight you. However, he may be more amenable in light of recent events, since you have done more than even some knights would, and will surely reward you. If you will accompany me to Camelot, I shall see to it immediately.”

They both knew the chances were slim for the king to have changed his mind, but Arthur was stubborn and wanted, at the very least, to show his willingness to knight Lancelot in irrefutable terms, and Lancelot wanted to meet the infamous murderer-king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first--Mother wanting to adopt Arthur is entirely credited to Faedra!! They made a comment about it several chapters ago. An excellent idea. 
> 
> *me, writing the morgana/gwen scene* what is hapeningggggg why is romance is falling from my fingertips? Anyway, enjoy if it’s your thing
> 
> I’ve started to realize that I’ve basically doomed myself to re-write the whole damn show. The whole damn thing. And you know what? I’m gonna fucking do it. You can’t stop me. I can’t stop me. Buckle up because this is the version of Merlin where everyone gets to be happy and magic is _actually_ legalized and the ending isn’t half-assed and lazy. 
> 
> Any ideas for the gender-neutral equivalent of witch and warlock? (I’m taking them both to mean born-with-magic, like Morgana and Merlin, vs learned magic, like Gaius) the best I could come up with was wurlitch.


	15. Treason Babey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of my favorites meet :)))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the typos last chapter oops. Also sorry for the wait but. College!

The dress Gwen brought was a pretty purple one Morgana had only seen a couple of times. Gwen didn’t usually wear it to the palace because the fabric was nicer than that on her other dresses, and Gwen was too practical to risk staining such a nice dress.

Of course she gave it to Morgana, who deserved all the best and looked stunning in purple. 

In the simple dress, with no makeup on her face and her hair tied in a practical bun and less silky than usual, no one but Uther and Arthur would recognize Morgana. Many townspeople and guards had seen her before, of course, but they mostly recognized her by her beautiful dresses and hair. With her hair tied up and unbrushed and the simple borrowed dress, she looked quite common (as was intended).

Gwen and Morgana got to hold hands as Gwen walked them to the house, because these things were more common and less frowned upon among the townsfolk. They were all too busy to care too much—that was business for people who did no manual labor. It wasn’t embraced, but the downcast eyes and convenient distraction people ran into when seeing two women holding hands just helped Morgana go by unnoticed. 

Soon enough, they stood in front of a small home with cute flowers out front. Gwen knocked, and the door opened. 

Most people would not have recognized Morgana. Even Uther would have had to look twice (but not Arthur). Tenn, however, was a sorcererx living in the beast’s jaws. They recognized everyone, because if they didn’t, someone could sneak into their home and kill them. 

So Tenn opened the door, saw Gwen, looked behind her and saw Uther’s ward and recognized her immediately. They smiled, opened the door wider, and let them both in. Tenn was no fool and had survived dozens upon dozens of witch hunts and executions. They knew that panicking would not help them.

Morgana knew that too. Her life was more similar to Tenn’s than either of them realized, in that moment, but she recognized the tensing of the muscles around the eyes, the look and feel of someone who knew they had to wait just long _enough_. Morgana was not surprised when, as soon as the door closed behind her, Tenn barked out a spell and help up a small glass jar of yellow liquid and yellow vapor. 

“I trusted you and you brought his _ward_ into my home? You might was well have brought Uther himself!” 

Gwen had paled significantly, and her hands shook slightly, but still, she stepped in front of Morgana, shielding her slightly. 

Morgana put a gentle had on Gwen’s shoulder and stepped around her. Tenn hadn’t cast a curse immediately, and Morgana knew she spoke wonderfully. She could see it, in every fiber of Tenn’s being, that lying wouldn’t fool them. Good thing Morgana had never planned on lying. 

“Uther is planning a witch raid on the southwest corner of the lower town in two weeks’ time. He is convinced the spice vendor is a sympathizer and will have him arrested for even the smallest of transgressions.” 

Tenn’s arm was still raised, still poised to throw that very dangerous looking jar at Morgana’s feet. But Morgana could read people well, and she knew she had bought herself enough time to keep talking. 

“I may be Uther’s ward, but I am not his child. I am my parents’ daughter first. My mother may not have been a sorceress, but she was well versed in magical theory, as was expected of her, and my father was one of the few who tried to calm Uther when he started the purge.” Her father, who died in battle when Uther’s promised back up never came. “I am not Uther’s glass doll. If you throw that bottle at my feet, you will lose a willing spy in the heart of his palace.” 

Tenn nodded and relaxed their stance. Like Morgana, they survived by reading people and reading them well. Whatever her intentions were, the king’s ward wasn’t lying. “And how do you know this?” 

“The king has the unfortunate habit of regaling us with his plans over dinner. He thinks setting people on fire, or his plans to do so, makes for pleasant conversation. And the prince leaves official documents spread everywhere and unattended.” And everyone underestimated the servants and how much they heard and gossiped about the goings on in the palace. Tenn got much of their information—and the occasional warning about an oncoming raid—from the kitchen gossip, but Gwen served all over the castle and got much more information. Morgana wasn’t about to incriminate Gwen, though. 

“And,” Gwen said, stepping forward, “from the gossip I hear.” Morgana wasn’t surprised, but her heart still fluttered. She loved Gwen so much. 

Tenn rested their elbow in their opposite hand, half-crossing their arms but keeping the hand holding the yellow jar free, just in case they changed their mind about letting Morgana stand there. They trusted their ability to read people—it had saved their life a couple of times already. Their instinct was telling them that Gwen and the king’s ward were telling the truth. Its not hard to tell the truth and have bad intentions, though. More importantly, Tenn felt like the couple in front of them was trustworthy. It was just an incredibly unexpected development. They nodded, once, mostly to themselves. It was a small movement, more like tilting the head. 

“Why? And why now?” 

“I hate it. I hate the hunting and the killing and the burning and the pain. And I hate Uther.” Tenn was the fourth person to hear Morgana’s venom, and the second person to believe it. The first had been Gwen. “A man that cruel to his people is not much kinder to those in his home. At first I just wanted to stop their pain, maybe offer some comfort in the final hours. I’ve been bringing small meals and sleeping poison to those sentenced to execution for years now.” 

That caught Tenn off guard. There had been rumors, rumors so soft that Tenn hadn’t believed them. Rumors of a sympathizer in the castle, offering an alternative to the pain of fire. 

Morgana kept going. “But I knew Merlin. I considered him my friend. Seeing him arrested made me realize how inadequate my small actions were. Better than nothing, but not by much. Not when I live in the castle, not when I know so much, and not when Uther underestimates me so much he would never suspect me of wrongdoing. Hundreds of people have _died_. Merlin is _dead_. A painless death is still death.” Tenn could see the absolute steel in Morgana’s gaze. Here, here in their home, was a woman who would descend into madness to accomplish what she deemed justice. “I’m not asking to be privy to any secrets, to any circles that may exist. I have information and I want to give it. Uther can’t burn witches he can’t find.” 

Finally, finally, Tenn set down the glass jar. “I believe you. If Gwen is willing, I would rather receive the news from her, as it is much less inconspicuous for servants to meet each other. If you and I need to interact personally, it is best done in the castle. You are seen speaking to us often enough that it shouldn’t raise suspicion.” They considered telling Morgana that Merlin was alive. They knew they were friends, Merlin had talked about her before, but in the end it wasn’t Tenn’s secret to tell, so they didn’t. 

Morgana nodded. Tenn could see a mixture of relief and excitement around the girl’s eyes—and she looked so young in that moment. Morgana nodded again, almost to herself this time. “One last thing—Uther considers jewelry to be a sign of sorcery. Anything expensive, well crafted, or with colored jewels. Bracelets with engravings. He thinks magic is the only way you could afford such things. He is also suspicious of books.”

That was useful information. They knew that some arrests were truly random, the result of a guard who was having a particularly bad day, a guard who didn’t like the way he was looked at. A knight whose proposition had been turned down. Sometimes, they actually found a sorcerex. A forgotten potion, an old vial fallen behind a counter. 

Morgana thanked Tenn as she left. This wasn’t about her, after all. It was about Tenn, and people like Tenn, killed for no reason. Tenn didn’t thank Morgana. It was a small test, a small game they liked to play. People who expected gratitude for helping them, for helping magic users, were fickle allies at best. But Morgana had thanked _them_ , and that was the last step to unlocking that small place in Tenn’s heart where they guarded the people they thought deserved better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love handle is an awful name. horrible. I got stung by a wasp there yesterday but. I hate it. Its my hip fatty. Pelvic bundle. Extra high Sidebottom rolls. Not love handle. What an awful term. LOVE handle? Love HANDLE? Ew. Just. Awful. 
> 
> (also I’m fine the wasp sting didn’t even hurt that much)


	16. Future Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)) read and find out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOTHERS AND FUCKERS GUESS WHO’S BACK. My senior year has been KICKING MY ASS but MY ASS AIN’T DEAD YET. I’ve got two months off now and my plan is to pamper yall with many chapters. Lets see how that plan plays you, yeah?

Lancelot and Arthur were granted an audience with the king the next afternoon. It went as they both expected it to; Uther acknowledged Lancelot’s help and offered him money or a position on the guard as reward, but refused to knight him, since knighthood was a tradition and a privilege reserved to those born of nobility. Lancelot expected this. If it had been Arthur he was serving, if Uther and his ugly fingers hadn’t needed to hold the knighting sword, Lancelot would have accepted it. Merlin was right, there was something about Arthur. Some sort of potential Lancelot wanted to trust.

Uther, though, was just _ugly_. Ugly in a way beyond his physical appearance, even if Lancelot wanted to recoil at the sight of him. Ugly because, as he looked into his face, Lancelot easily believed that this man had decided to kill hundreds, thousands. The dirt on his soul simply shone through onto his face, and he was _hideous_. He would come back to visit Merlin, but while Uther was alive, Lancelot wanted nothing to do with court, nothing that tied him to the royal family. Merlin was right, though—there were plenty of people who could use his help. He would find a merchant and offer his sword arm; he’d worked for money before, and there was clearly too much of the kingdom he had yet to see. 

***

Gwen was busy as ever, preparing the castle for the visit from Bayard and his Mercian entourage. There were her usual duties for Morgana—preparing the dress, adjusting it or freshening it to the latest fashions, making sure her beauty creams were all fresh and full and going to Gaius for refills, taking time to talk and laugh about the business of other royals—and all the duties she did because she could, because there was always something to do when foreign kings were coming to visit. 

She nearly ran into Arthur and a curly haired man as the walked away from the throne room, Arthur looking livid and the stranger looking… remarkably like Morgana did, when she was particularly disgusted by Uther and trying to hide it. She curtsied quickly, not wanting to bother Arthur when he was in such a state. He nodded, then seemed to properly notice her.

“Guinevere! Perhaps you can help.” He nodded his head towards the stranger. “This is Lancelot, who, if it were up to me, would be Sir Lancelot by now—”

“M’Lady,” Lancelot quickly kissed her hand, genuine enough for Gwen to smile.

“—but my father is stubborn and refuses to knight him, even now he’s saved my life. Give him your father’s best sword, I will pay for it myself, and help him find a trustworthy merchant who’s looking to hire a bodyguard. My father might refuse to knight him, but I won’t see him go unrewarded.”

“Sire I cannot accept the sword—”

Arthur clapped a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder, the same way he did with the knights. “Nonsense. You refuse the rewards my father offers, the least I can do is guarantee you have a sword worthy of your talent. Especially now that you damaged yours fighting that Griffon—don’t think I didn’t notice, that sword is likely to break the next time it strikes anything as hard as a thick twig.”

“Very well, sire.” He turned to Gwen. “I am in your hands, m’lady, though it seems they’re quite competent hands.”

“Oh nonsense,” she said, “it’s my father’s hands that are skilled. With, you know, sword making. Not that you would think I meant anything else, and why would I imply you thought anything else—oh I’ve gone and done it again, haven’t I.”

Gwen knew she blabbered, especially when speaking to strangers. Or people she liked—when she’d first noticed her feelings for Morgana, oh those had been the most embarrassing two weeks of her life. Eventually she’d blabbered her way straight into a confession, and that had been that. Lancelot only grinned, and once again Gwen was struck by how genuine the expression was. He wasn’t making fun of her. Oh, he and Merlin would have gotten along so well. Her heart ached in that way it always did whenever she remembered Merlin, because god that hurt was still so recent, but she smiled back at Lancelot. “I’m Guinevere, nice to meet you.” 

***

Lancelot was wonderful, her father was quite charmed, and they were glad the sword wen to him, in the end. Not many people could have afforded it, and the only reason Tom wasn’t the royal swordsmith is because he didn’t want to be. Lancelot would have refused the sword, but Arthur had come in with that way of his and a bag of gold and gotten his way. 

Tom thanked Lancelot for accepting it, said it had been sitting on display too long and he was glad to see it in noble hands. Lancelot had turned his energy from refusing the sword to refusing his noble character, and Arthur had paid. 

Now, they were walking through the market, Gwen leading Lancelot to merchants she knew, asking if they needed a bodyguard. Most of them were ordinary traveling merchants, but some of them, Gwen knew, dealt with magic. It was quite common, actually, since travelling merchants often traveled outside of Camelot. The neighboring kingdoms were reluctant to openly support magic, since Uther’s willingness to war were quite well known, but it wasn’t banned. Talismans and enchanted objects were quite easy to sell, or so she’d been told. The traveling merchants were the least raided people in town. 

It might have been foolish, since she had no idea if Lancelot was a sympathizer or not, but Gwen couldn’t imagine him as anything else. There was too much of Morgana in the expression he wore when they first met, and too much of Merlin when he smiled, and too much care for the world when he spoke. They wondered over to Uallas’ stall. Gwen thought she might be related to Tenn, but wasn’t sure. They spoke, and Uallas was looking for a bodyguard. 

“Friend of yours?” she asked, and Gwen knew what he meant. 

“We met today, but he is certainly charming.”

“Gwen, you speak too highly of me.” He turned to Uallas. “My name is Lancelot, I come from the North.”

Uallas smiled, practiced. All the sympathizers learned to act, if they wanted to survive more than a few years. “What brings you to Camelot from so far?”

“I had always dreamed on being a knight. The sword is all I’ve learned, so I’m looking for someone who needs it.”

“What changed?”

Lancelot looked at Uallas. He wasn’t practiced, not like the rest of them were, Gwen noticed. He was one of the ones who would run before he would pretend to support Uther, she thought. Brave. “The king is stubborn, and refused to knight a commoner.” 

People forgot how smart Gwen was. She was a servant, and she was always with Morgana, whose intelligence and cunning shone through to anyone who bothered to look. Gwen was more quiet about it, but there was a reason Morgana had fallen for her. Lancelot was also testing the waters, and he was being quite bold about it. 

“Ha! That he is,” the tone she spoke in made it clear that she would have spat on the ground, if she were stupid. “You’re hired, if you still want it. I leave at the end of the week; meet me here tomorrow so I can make sure you know what you’re doing, but otherwise you’re free to wrap up any loose ends you may have spun.”

“I would be honored,” he said, shaking her hand.


	17. Nimueh, that Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things spice up for everyone when Bayard's entourage arrives, brining Nimueh with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I eat carrots and hummus like a kid in a candy store (until I start feeling sick)
> 
> (I’m a legal adult i promise)
> 
> Also this is the second chapter I posted to day so don't miss chapter 16!

The remainder of Lancelot’s week in Camelot went by quickly. None of Gaius’ potions had any adverse side effects, and Lancelot fancied he could almost feel a soft stubble growing across his jaw. He also had the pleasure of running into Guinevere again when she came to the physician’s quarters to pick up refills of her own transition potions, and they shared a surprised moment of camaraderie before going out for drinks. 

He spent his last night at Merlin’s, where he was gifted with tears, the first ripe strawberry, and a hag stone he could use to ask for Merlin’s help if he ever needed it. At Lancelot’s insistence, Merlin enchanted his own matching stone; if Lancelot needed help, Merlin’s stone would warm. If Merlin needed help, Lancelot’s would do the same. 

Despite Lancelot’s early morning departure, they spent the night counting starts and talking, not knowing when they would see each other next. Merlin hadn’t realized what a visceral relief it would be to have a friend who knew his secret, and he was beyond glad to have Lancelot as his friend. Merlin radiated warmth and calm, despite his energetic demeanor, and Lancelot knew he would miss him on the road. The night culminated when Lancelot brought out his own gift—a bottle of wine that lead to laughter, clumsy wrestling matches, and Lancelot stabbing Merlin through the ear with a sewing needle, stuffing the fresh hole with a bit of cloth, and saying “Fwoosh. Jewelry.” 

***

Gwen’s week was quite different. Bayard and his men were scheduled to arrive the day after Lancelot left, and there was no time that wasn’t dedicated to getting the castle ready. Morgana had even managed to wheedle some more information from Uther about the raid, and Gwen had struggled to find free time to see Tenn that wasn’t suspiciously late at night. She managed to stop by after her night at the tavern with Lancelot, since Tenn’s place was on the way back. She felt bad at first, almost like she was using Lancelot, but she genuinely enjoyed her night and went to bed guilt free. 

The day before the welcome feast, Gwen went to town to see Lancelot and Uallas off and was entertained by how well the two of them were already getting on. They seemed like an odd pair at first, with Uallas’ travel-hardened humor and quick tongue, but Lancelot matched her word for word with no hesitation, all the while maintaining his calm, polite exterior. He even endured her notoriously strong Punches-of-Friendship with a raised eyebrow and a quick challenge. 

Later, Lancelot introduced her to his friend Dragoon. By far the oldest man she had ever met, Dragoon seemed delighted to meet her and somewhere along the line of senile, but eventually roped Gwen into a conversation about the market, the best place to set up a new stall, and the kinds of wares people were short of. Apparently, he had recently moved nearer to the capital—moved! At his age!

She eventually had to excuse herself when Dragoon’s eyes sparkled in a way that was just a little bit too much like Merlin. Having such a lively conversation with two people who would have gotten along so well with her friend was too much for her so soon after his loss, so she wished them both luck and went to tend to Morgana. Hair brushing and soft conversation was just what she needed. 

***

Somewhere dark and nondescript, Nimueh set out for her journey. Her Afanc had been defeated by Merlin, and he had become almost impossible to scry lately, but no matter. He was banished form Camelot, which opened a myriad of opportunities to her. If his destiny was truly tied to Arthur’s as closely as the prophecies said, any actions she took against the prince were likely to involve Merlin as well. And she knew just how to get to that stupid prince. 

***

Finally, the Mercian entourage arrived. The servants of the castle collectively relaxed—planning and preparations were always harder than execution; now it was back to the daily tasks of pretending to be part of the scenery, keeping wine glasses filled and unwanted hands away, and cleaning up after fully grown children in positions of power. 

Gwen enjoyed these feasts, in her own way. Being Morgana’s lady in waiting had its advantages—she was well protected compared to the other servants at the table, which gave her the opportunity to listen to the conversations happening. She also enjoyed watching Morgana play the men around her as easily as breathing. She wondered if Tenn knew what a valuable spy they had in the castle. Morgana was a master of subtlety, and played her role well. It wasn’t fit for a woman in her position to carry a conversation, so she encouraged the men around her to talk. Her signature smile and cheerful inquiries led the drunk knights and lords around her to topics on the edge of being secrets. It was a beautiful dance to watch. Gwen did her fair share, too, because what the men didn’t tell Morgana, they told each other. Truly, it was a wonder kingdoms had any secrets at all, with how much everybody talked. She smiled at the pretty handmaiden in Bayard’s group, Selia. The girl must have been new to court, because she couldn’t quite keep her boredom off her face. Gwen had chatted with her a bit in the kitchens that morning; she was nice enough, if disinterested in her colleagues. 

The night dragged on, and Gwen decided it was time to switch Morgana to wine before the next man decided to brave Uther’s wrath (which paled in the face of Morgana’s) by touching her. Bayard was in the middle of a long speech about overlooking past hardships and putting aside their past as warful enemies, along with all the royal niceties required of peace treaties. It was nice, truly, but the execution was far from exciting. The servants had been informed of the goblets that would be presented to the royal household, so Gwen knew she had to hurry to be able to fill Morgana’s in time. 

She turned the corner and ran straight into one of the servant’s in Bayard’s group. It was the girl, Selia. 

“Oh Guinevere, thank goodness, I didn’t know who I would speak to and—” 

“Selia, dear, what is it?” 

“It wasn’t until this morning—” 

This girl was rambling worse that Gwen herself, “from the beginning, or I won’t understand,” she said, placing a hand on the girl’s arm.

Selia nodded and took a few breaths. “I’ll be killed if the find out but—two days ago, I was bringing Bayard his evening meal, I was supposed to knock you know, he wasn’t expecting me yet—oh if he knows I said anything he will kill me—” 

Gwen thought she knew where this was going. Oh, this was bad. “If needs must, Camelot will place you under her protection. Now quick, what is it?” 

“Bayard, he poisoned the goblet. Arthur’s goblet. He isn’t looking for peace—he’s looking to weaken Camelot by killing her crown prince and throwing the King into mourning.” 

“Thank you Selia. Go to the physician’s chambers, he will help keep you safe until the events of tonight unfold.” Gwen hurried off, leaving Selia to find the way to Gaius herself. A poisoned chalice was much more urgent. Oh, what would she do, no one would ever believe her if she challenged royalty! But she couldn’t let Arthur die. He was nice enough, despite his arrogant demeanor, and Morgana cared for him deeply despite her sarcastic exterior. Oh she hoped she had enough time to pull Morgana aside and come up with a plan—

“…may the differences from our past remain there. To your health, Uther, Arthur.” Ah shit, that was the end of a speech if she ever heard one, okay, no time for planning. 

“Sire, WAIT!” the entire room turned to look at her. Oh how she hated this. She glanced briefly at Morgana. “The chalice—Arthur’s chalice, I mean—its poisoned.” 

She had walked down the length of the table, her feet guiding her towards Morgana on instinct, she supposed. All that accomplished was putting her in the middle of the commotion when Bayard’s knights, followed a half-second later by Uther’s, pulled their swords at each other. And at her, since she was between them. 

“I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS DISRESPECT—”

She tuned out Bayard’s righteous anger and met Morgana’s eyes. If anyone in the room could think quickly enough and talk well enough to keep Gwen’s head on her shoulders, it would be Morgana. Gwen’s honor was already being called into question, oh she was on the chopping block, she just knew it. 

Morgana leaned over to Uther. “Please, she has been my maidservant for years. She would not accuse someone of such high standing without reason.” 

Uther smiled condescendingly at Morgana. Oh, Gwen must be afraid if she was thinking like that. “Of course, we will ask your maidservant to speak her turn.” He turned to Gwen, now, and her stomach only tied itself into tighter nots. “Girl, tell us.”

Bayard and his men got louder at that, but Gwen knew this was her only chance. “Please, your highness. One of King Bayar’s handmaidens came to me with her concerns—” more yelling, but this way Selia was sure to be protected in Camelot, perhaps even rewarded “—and when I returned to the hall the goblet was already in Prince Arthur’s hands. There was no time to bring this matter to the attention of someone of appropriate standing. I only wish to protect the royal household.” The ass-kissing should do it, she hoped. 

Uther nodded. “King Bayard, I was honored to call you my friend but a few moments ago. It is unfortunate, but surely you see how I cannot ignore such accusations?”

“She is but a servant! On the word of another servant, if she is to be believed! This is ludicrous!”

“What would you propose we do? If she tells the truth, you will not make it out of this hall alive.”

“THE AUDACITY—” King Bayard froze. “Have her drink from the goblet. It is not poisoned, and she will live, and you will give her to me for punishment.” Gwen paled. “Should she die, which she will not, she will die a more honorable death than any in her station deserve.” 

Morgana’s eyes were blown wide as she turned to the king. “Uther please, not Gwen, you know we are friends—” 

Uther brushed Morgana’s hands off his arm, “I am sorry, Morgana, but Bayard’s suggestion is sound. I still want to avoid war, if it is a possibility. We will find you a new girl within the week, so do not fret.” He turned back to the congregation. “King Bayard, I accept your terms on the condition that you punish your own serving girl, should Morgana’s maidservant prove to be incorrect.” 

Gwen wanted to laugh. Her second time facing death, and it was caused by the strangest mix of rationality and callousness. And her own foolishness, she supposed. She babbled, but she was not used to feeling like a foolish girl. 

She reached out and took the goblet, hands shaking. Unbeknownst to her, Gaius was speaking quickly and quietly to the earring in his hand. He had caught a glimpse of Nimueh and rushed in time to see the events unfolding. “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin! Oh please Merlin hurry I’m afraid someone will die.” The spell wasn’t meant to do anything other than glow softly, but this was a spell cast by Merlin. Gods only knew what it could truly do. “Oh, my boy, please, but be careful.” 

Gwen turned to Morgana, meeting her eyes for comfort. Morgana looked like she was seconds away from drinking the goblet herself, and that, more than anything, drove Gwen to bring the wine to her lips. She set the goblet down, expecting to drop it any second, and nothing happened. Gwen’s eyes grew wide—no, no, this was almost worse than being poisoned—what would a man like Bayard DO to her—

And then Gwen collapsed. Morgana, bold, daring, and desperate, picked up the goblet, gave a shout, and drank the rest of the wine. 

Soon they were both on the floor.

***

Gaius’s instincts had been right. The earring—now hanging in Merlin’s ear, thanks to Lancelot’s assistance—had grown brighter and brighter until it almost blinded him. The glow only faded when we has halfway to Camelot, running as fast as his legs could take him—faster, even, he thought. His eyes glowed soft gold, propelling him faster still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sprinkles some buff woman muscles in for the wlw out there*
> 
> also—I should know this. I’m the one who wrote this friggin story. But Gwen is trans and I can’t remember if I’ve written that into the story before this chapter--- (someone plz tell me)
> 
> and how's that drama, huh? exciting enough for my welcome back to the writing world?


	18. Mortaeus flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovely episode, reimagined: Merlin is awake this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I cut my own hair regularly, right? A nice, short crop. And I did a trim a few days ago, and missed one, TINY spot on the back of my head, because I can’t see the back of my head, but now I’ve FOUND the spot and I can’t stop TOUCHING IT and I’m going CRAZY but I’m too lazy to get my clippers out AGAIN and clean the bathroom AGAIN and—
> 
> if you’re ever reading some of my work and think “huh this vibes differently than it usually does” its because I read someone else’s work and, like kirby, vored their writing style and spat it back out here for yall to see.

Merlin was so worried that he ran right into the citadel without remembering that he was supposed to be a dead man, and no matter how urgent the situation was, being seen as himself would only make it worse. He tucked into a barely-there alleyway and quickly turned himself into Dragoon, running back out almost before the transformation was complete. His magic still ran wild under his skin and all around him, easing his aching bones and helping him move much faster than he should at that age. Any with the sense for such things startled and noticed his passing, wondering if this presence was the worst thing yet to befall Camelot in the recent months. It wasn’t, because it was just our dear Merlin, but he was certainly tied closely to all the disastrous magical happenings. 

As Merlin rushed towards the castle, quite a few things had happened to the people in the feast. The chaos in the hall doubled when Morgana collapsed next to Gwen—Bayard was dealing with the double threat of an impostor in his midst and Uther’s wrath, and the sight of Morgana collapsing had Uther in a rage few had ever seen before. 

Gaius was able to intervene before any heads fell, even if it was a close thing, rushing to the king. “Your Highness!” Uther paused long enough for Gaius to finish his sentence. “This was not Bayard’s doing, but Nimueh’s.” 

The color drained form Uther’s face at the implication. “Gaius, are you sure?”

The physician nodded. “I was only a brief glance, but I saw her dressed as a servant. She would not have needed such a disguise if King Bayard knew of her involvement.” 

Uther’s priorities seemed split for a moment. “—Gaius, take Morgana. Save her—do what you must.” He turned to the other king in the room, “Bayard, this is the work of sorcery. Come.” 

Morgana had been desperate, but she wasn’t foolish. She knew Uther wouldn’t have cared about Gwen’s death, and would have done nothing to prevent it. Her own, though, he would not allow. And any antidote capable of saving her would save Gwen as well—as long as such an antidote existed. Perhaps not foolish herself, but definitely desperate enough for such a dangerous gamble. 

And so, Gaius had seen Morgana and Gwen escorted to his chambers and confirmed that they were alive for the moment, the poisoned chalice following into the room a few minutes later, when Merlin stormed in. 

“Gaius, I almost went _blind_ what in the Dragon’s ASS—WHAT?” He rushed to the sickbeds, almost tripping in his haste to check on both women simultaneously. “What happened here?” 

“A poisoned chalice intended for Arthur. Gwen learned of it in time to stop Arthur from drinking it, but was forced to drink it herself. Morgana finished the poisoned wine after Gwen collapsed. Foolish, brave girls.” 

Merlin bent over, checking for a pulse. “They’re still alive. Is there an antidote?” 

Gaius shook his head. “I have not had time to identify the poison yet. But Merlin, I’m afraid it’s worse than an assassination attempt—the sorceress Nimueh is responsible for this.” 

“Nimueh?” Merlin asked as he muttered a few things, pulling out the potions he had thrown in his bag before leaving.

“An old associate, bent on revenge after Uther began the Purge. I realize now she was probably responsible for the Afanc as well, since those creatures—”

“Need to be summoned. Of course—” Merlin slapped his forehead “—how could I be so foolish!” He watched Gaius take several swabs of the chalice and place the cloths in several different liquids. “I have been reading, let me try—”

“No! Don’t be foolish.” Gaius glanced around. “There is too much commotion still. If I do not find something, you can try later. Keep a watch on them for me.” 

“Already on it,” Merlin mumbled, placing potion-soaked cloths in Morgana and Gwen’s mouths, relieved to see them swallowing the medicine. Hopefully it would slow the progress of the poison, but it was always hard to be sure with such a big unknown. 

The next person to nearly tear the door off its hinges was Arthur. “Gaius, please tell me there is something that can be done—” He paused when he saw Merlin, “who is this?”

“Arthur, this is Dragoon. He was a friend of my mentor’s when I was an apprentice physician myself. I summoned him to assist me.” He stood, frowning as one of his experiments changed color. “Guinevere and Morgana are alive, for now.” 

Gaius swirled his now deep-blue vial, and quickly started a new series of experiments. Merlin had felt his heart stutter when Arthur appeared, worried that the prince would somehow recognize him through his disguise. Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur since his imprisonment-failed-execution-faked-death, and his reaction was more conflicted than he thought it would be. He couldn’t help but have images of the pyre flash through his mind’s eye before shaking the thoughts away and turning back to his patients. He was infinitely grateful to have necessary information _before_ the threat, and especially grateful for the healing tomes Gaius had given him. 

“Tell me how to help.” 

Merlin glanced up at Arthur again, this time seeing his friend more than the haze of fear. It was the earnestness he could see on Arthur’s face in moments like these that reassured him he was on the right path, and eased any doubts about his decision to protect he son of a tyrant. “Gaius is trying to identify the poison. There isn’t much to be done until he accomplishes that, but I can ease some of the symptoms.” He handed a pink-soaked cloth to Arthur. “Dab this on their throats, it will ease the heart palpitations.” 

The tense silence only lasted a few moments before the door was opened again, protesting loudly at its repeated rough treatment, letting Uther into the room. 

“Gaius. Tell me you have learned something.” 

Gaius waited a moment before answering, adding a powder to the blue vial and watching as its shade lightened. “I have, sire. I have confirmed that this is Mortaeus poison.” He hesitated. “There is an antidote, sire, but I am afraid I do not have any in my possession, and acquiring it is a terrible risk.” 

Uther glanced briefly at Arthur where he stood, occupied by Merlin’s instructions but clearly listening. “I authorize you to use _any means necessary_ to save Morgana, Gaius.” 

Merlin and Arthur glanced up almost simultaneously, similar expressions of shock and outrage flashing across their faces before they masked their emotions.

Gaius shook his head. “I am afraid it would do no good. The only thing that can cure Mortaeus poison is the flower from which it is derived; the petals are used to kill, and its leaves are the only know antidote.” 

“Then we must retrieve the flower immediately!”

“It is very rare, sire, and can only be found in caves beyond the forest of Balor.” 

“Very well, then.” Uther looks at Arthur again. “Arthur! This shall be your quest.” 

Merlin knew Arthur would have done it anyway, but he bristled at the nonchalance with which Uther assigned such a dangerous mission to his son. 

“Of course, Father. I shall go prepare.” Arthur glanced at Morgana, panting and sweating, before nodding to Merlin and leaving. 

Uther finally seemed to take in the rest of the room’s occupants. “What happened to the serving girl?” 

Even Gaius had to turn, putting some of his vials away, to hide the expression of anger that crossed his face. “Sire, she is the one who warned everyone of the poison in the chalice.” 

Uther frowned. “I hope you know to prioritize Morgana’s treatment, Gaius.” 

Merlin clenched the sheets near Gwen’s head, back to Uther, furious, and worried that his magic was agitated enough to make his eyes glow gold.

“Any treatment used on Morgana can be used on Guinevere as well, sire. I saw no reason not to treat them both.” 

“Very well.” 

As soon as the door closed behind the king, three of Gaius’ glass jars burst on their shelves, raining tinkling glass onto the stone floor. The shards collapsed on themselves as they fell, landing as a sparkling dust. Merlin exhaled a shaky breath. 

***

If Arthur’s preparations involved a significantly larger amount of property damage than necessary, his father was the only one who could be blamed. 

_By any means necessary,_ he had said. _Any means!_ That was sure to mean magic. He had spent all this time since Merlin’s revelation wrestling with the notions _his father_ had taught him and the things his heart was whispering to him, and in waltzed in that _very same father,_ asking one of his subjects to perform sorcery! Healing sorcery, the very same for which Merlin had been sentenced to death! Not only that, but Uther asking that of Gaius meant that—meant that Gaius had practiced sorcery at one point, and his father had known, and had allowed Gaius to live all these years! If his father was so quick to resort to magic when it convenienced him, then why the Purge—

He threw his wine jug on the floor, shattering it and spilling its contents. 

If there was one thing Arthur’s rage accomplished, it was highlighting how much his thoughts had changed since Merlin’s escape and—death. Only a few weeks ago, he would have argued with his father, challenged him after such a revelation. He knew what his father would say. Hard decisions, and priorities, not realizing he was treating himself as above the very law he had created, allowing exceptions for himself. Other’s had begged—had _died_ —for using magic in similar situations of despair, and Uther had killed them all, stating that magic was a corrupting force and no exceptions could be had. 

Uther was lucky that Arthur loved Morgana (though he would never say those words), because if not for his quest for the Mortaeus flower—which he would have gone after regardless of what Uther said, and would have done so even if Guinevere were the only one being tended to by Gaius and that old man—he would have immediately made some drastic decisions. He likely still would, but he had other priorities at the moment. 

***

“Can magic really do nothing, Gaius?”

“Nothing more than you are already doing, I’m afraid. The mortaeus flower itself is magical and can truly only be counteracted by itself. Your magic may extend their life more than any other’s would, but even you cannot save them.” 

Merlin cursed and rifled through his bag. Sure, Gaius said that, but he had to have something, he had to try—Gaius was right, after all, his magic was odd, was strong—

“Merlin.” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. “Merlin, you should accompany Arthur. Those caves are dangerous, and I suspect the Chalice wasn’t the entirety of Nimueh’s plan. He will likely need your help.” 

Merlin nodded, frustration ebbing away slowly now that he had a clear, familiar objective. “Just like old times, huh? Secretly following Arthur along on a quest I’m not supposed to be on. Keeping him alive.” 

The adrenaline from the sequence of events finally left him, and the evening’s events crashed into Merlin with an emotional clarity that immediately brought tears to his eyes. On Dragoon’s wrinkle-worn face, they almost looked like they belonged there, the crevices in his skin turning into small streams. 

“Oh, Merlin, come here.” Gaius moved his arms from Merlin’s shoulders to hug him. 

Merlin leaned into the hug. “I should be used to this, Gaius, it’s not like I haven’t done this, but—no one’s life has been on the line like this, and—I’m having nightmares, Gaius. What will I have to do this time? I’ve killed _people_.” Gaius’ arms wrapped tighter around him. “I should be used to this.” 

“My boy,” Gaius gently wiped the tear tracts from Merlin’s face, “you have absolutely no reason to be used to this. Your burden is no lighter than a king’s, and it was thrust on you so suddenly, and so young.” He hugged Merlin again, tight enough to make Merlin lose his breath. “I wish I could offer you more comfort in this moment, but I am worried about Arthur. Come visit me soon. I will make your favorite for dinner, and we can have a long conversation, if you wish.”

Merlin nodded, calming himself with a few deep breaths. Gaius’ heart ached at the practiced way Merlin’s determination took over. He truly was too young for this burden. When Gaius was his age, his greatest worries were his mentor’s herb list and the quarrel between two of his three lovers, and here Merlin stood, as good as his son, burdened with the weight of a kingdom and all the magic within it. 

***

Arthur had left moments before Merlin walked into the stables. The stable hands were distracted by the sudden appearance of the prince, and the rumors had already started to filter down from the castle, giving Merlin the perfect cover to steal a horse. 

He galloped out the gates and after Arthur. His magic was still at his fingertips, guiding him instinctively. It had grown since his escape, he realized. It was willing and it was _powerful_. As soon as he passed into the trees, he let himself return to his younger body.

He would help and protect Arthur, and they would save Gwen and Morgana, vengeful sorceresses be damned.


	19. Mortaeus flower II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur realizes that maybe flowers aren't that useless, after all. And has his life threatened by the usual magical shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Merlin gets knocked out, and there is a 1 sentence description of his (burn) injury. Not sure if it counts as graphic, but better safe than sorry. Leave a comment if you want more detail. Or you can just skip the super-short section right after “He landed and, for a split second, though he wouldn’t be able to hold on. But he did, so the only thing left was to start climbing.” You won’t miss any plot, the section is only a couple of sentences and I wrote it as much for drama as anything else lol. 
> 
> Merlin bandages himself in the section after “(fresh paragraph) Nothing.” But the injury isn’t described again. 
> 
> On another note: no Morgana this episode but, “Use my voice” by Evanescence gives me season 1-2 Morgana vibes. If anyone was interested.

Arthur rode his horse hard. The poison was slow enough that he had time to retrieve the flower and return, but only just. And, knowing his luck, he would need every second he could get. The ride was hard and it was lonely, just the sound of the horse’s galloping keeping time to his frantic thoughts. 

His horse was sweaty and exhausted by the time he slowed, unsure of the exact location of the caves. He hesitated, trying to decide which path to take, trying to remember the specifics of the region’s geography, when he heard a sniffling coming from the path on the left. He didn’t have time to spare helping a stranger, but he also didn’t have time to spend being lost. Hopefully, their problem could be solved with some coin and they would know the location of caves nearby. He nudged his horse towards the sound, patting its neck. 

When he came across a woman in a ripped dress, he slightly regretted his decision. This didn’t seem like it would be resolved quickly. He dismounted. 

“Are you alright?” 

The woman startled and looked up, eyes red-rimmed. She hesitated, then shook her head. “My—my master, he—”

Arthur’s anger flared. He knew the type and hoped he someday had the opportunity to sock one in the face. He made sure his expression was neutral and friendly before crouching down. “Listen, I’m on a quest at the moment, but I can escort you back to Camelot afterwards.” 

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “A quest?” 

“I need a flower that grows in caves somewhere around here—” 

The woman perked up suddenly. “Oh, I think I know these caves! Would you like me to show you?” 

***

Merlin watched as Arthur interacted with the woman. He was very suspicious of this woman. Reasons?

1\. An evil sorceress bent on revenge had orchestrated a plot to poison Arthur. 

2\. This woman was just, crying near the caves, with no horse, no shoes, and no travel supplies, and conveniently knew the location of the caves. 

3\. The woman had magic. 

Merlin couldn’t usually sense magic users, so he wasn’t sure why he knew. Maybe it was his own magic, still so close to the surface. Maybe this woman was stronger than other magic users he had met. Or maybe this was Nimueh, priestess of the Old Religion, wearing her magic proudly. He couldn’t let Arthur follow her. 

He cursed when he saw Arthur and probably-Nimueh getting up to leave. He had to make a quick decision—follow, or confront? 

Merlin decided to follow until her plans were clearer. If she _actually_ took him to the caves, Merlin could distract her then. If not, Merlin would just… figure something out. Somehow. He didn’t particularly want to waltz out looking like Merlin and ruin his “but I’m dead” alibi, but Dragoon was his only way getting in and out of the citadel without sneaking, he was too useful to lose. And he was creaky and his joint hurt. He shrugged his cloak closer over his shoulders. He supposed it was better to reveal he was alive then lose a disguise, and maybe the cloak would be enough to cover his face. 

The woman leading Arthur seemed to have completely forgotten about her cruel master, making Merlin’s suspicions stronger. After a few minutes of walking, Merlin trailing behind as quietly as he could, they arrived at the caves. Merlin had to admit, that was helpful. He couldn’t let maybe-Nimueh go any further, though. 

In a moment of inspiration, he sent out a burst of magic, hoping she would notice. 

She glanced up, so Merlin sent out another pulse, hood pulled low over his head for good measure. Her entire demeanor changed, stance widening slightly, head carried more proudly. And quite the smirk. She looked in his direction and met his eyes, even though he was relatively well hidden in the trees. 

“Ah... I see you have come, after all.” She turned to Arthur, who was slowly shifting into a more defensive position. “Arthur Pendragon,” she said, smirking when his hand went to the pommel of his sword, “this is where we part. It is by very few of my hands that you are destined to die.” She waved her hand and her eyes flashed gold. “Farewell. I have another who interests me more.” 

Still in the cover of trees, Merlin murmured the beast-speak spell (he really wished he knew what he sounded like from an outsider’s perspective) and stepped slightly more into the light. “High Priestess Nimueh.” 

She launched the first spell. 

***

The woman leading Arthur’s entire demeanor had changed in a second. Her eyes flashed gold—oh great. A sorceress, and an evil one apparently. The fates did not want to make his soul searching easier, did they?—and before Arthur had the chance to draw his sword against her, he heard a growl from behind him. 

The creature was enormous and seemed to be both lizard and catlike, with membranous protrusions that were the wrong shape for flying. Arthur shifted deeper into his stance, hoping the creature was easier to kill than the griffon. He briefly processed a deep, growling voice address the woman as High Priestess Nimueh before the woman—Nimueh, who Gaius had said was responsible for the chalice—yelled a spell and something bright flashed behind him. 

He stalked around the creature, trying to learn its movements before attacking, and caught Nimueh and another sorcerer battling each other. He hoped they kept each other busy long enough for him to kill the monster in front of him. It roared, and he lunged. 

***

Merlin threw himself aside desperately, avoiding the fireball Nimueh had thrown at him. Arthur, somewhere off to the right, was being attacked by a cockatrice, of all things. And Merlin, keeping his hold on the beast-speak spell, was surprised he didn’t understand anything it was saying. Cockatrices weren’t supposed to be unintelligent. 

“What a pity, Merlin, to be a slave to Arthur as you are. So easy to manipulate. And what has he ever done for you?”

Merlin ignored her. “You’ve Enslaved that cockatrice.” 

She glanced in its direction as if she were too disinterested to be truly surprised. “An easy enough matter for me.” 

Angry, Merlin channels his magic into the ground, making it shake as thick roots rose to encompass Nimueh. 

*** 

Arthur nearly stumbled when the ground began shaking. “ _What the fuck!_ ”

He jumped back, avoiding the swipe of a bear-sized claw, and hazarded a glance behind him. He could vaguely see the cloak-hidden profile of the second sorcerer, and what looked like roots growing up and around Nimueh. _What the FUCK!_ Since when could sorcerers cause earthquakes? 

He rolled under another paw-swipe and struck the monster’s foreleg. It screamed, clearly in pain, but didn’t slow. 

*** 

Nimueh muttered a spell and the roots exploded, shrapnel flying towards Merlin.

They fell to the ground with a flash of his eyes. 

By the caves, Arthur yelled in pain and surprise as the cockatrice knocked him over. Merlin, seeing the creature’s jaws bearing down, didn’t hesitate to turn his attention to the prince, yelling the spell that would allow his sword to kill even a Griffon. 

Nimueh took advantage of his distraction and launched a fireball at his back. 

*** 

The creature’s jaws bore down on him, and Arthur did the only thing he could think of and thrust his sword upwards through its mouth. He thought he saw the tip glowing as it pierced through the cockatrice’s skull.

*** 

It hurt too much to scream, so he didn’t. His ears rang for a few seconds before he passed out. 

Nimueh left, satisfied.

*** 

Arthur pulled his sword out of the monster and rolled over onto his back, panting. He was bruised for sure, but otherwise uninjured. His sword wasn’t glowing anymore, if it ever had. 

Remembering the fighting at his back, he hauled himself back into a defensive position, looking around. Nimueh and the other sorcerer were no where to be seen. He hesitated, wanting to scout the area to make sure they were truly gone, but didn’t feel he had time for that. 

Scanning behind himself one last time, Arthur headed into the cave system. 

***

Arthur swore. This place was a damn _maze_ , and he didn’t know _where_ in the cave the flowers would be. And why were they in a cave? Didn’t flowers need sunlight to grow? 

He turned the corner and saw a light up ahead. Maybe there was a hole in the stone above him. He followed it and froze cold when he saw the source was a floating blue orb. 

Remembering the battle he had largely ignored (and miraculously not been injured by), he took a step back, sword in hand, and quieted his breathing. The tunnel system was narrow enough to echo footsteps instead of dampen them; after several seconds of silence, he relaxed. Slightly. The orb was still magic. 

But… not all magic was bad. Maybe. He hoped. He would find out. 

It was a very bad time to be finding out though, what with the _very_ time sensitive quest he was on. 

I mean, his father had been willing to use it to save Morgana. Which… was a weird contradiction, because his father wasn’t the picture of moral fiber, but there was no one who hated magic more than him. His tirades of the inherent corrupting power of magic certainly lost weight after Arthur overheard Uther’s order to Gaius. 

Arthur took a step forward. The light didn’t move. He took another step forward. The light still didn’t move. 

He reached forward to poke it with his sword. The light dodged and flared slightly. Was it… was it annoyed? Arthur put his sword down and it dimmed back to a warm afternoon glow. He started lifting his sword arm again, and the closer he got to the light the brighter it got. Okay… okay, that was pretty clear. Don’t poke it. 

He took another step forward and the light floated around the corner. Oh, so now it left? Maybe it was a creature, not an enchantment. That explained why it didn’t want to be poked by a sword. 

A second later the light returned, coming to hover near Arthur’s face. He grimaced, muscles tense with the effort not to step back. It was hard to look at directly, but it didn’t look like it had any creature-shaped source. 

“What…” 

The light orb… rotated? A small section of the orb brightened, and that brighter section moved in a circular motion around the orb. Did a damn floating glowing ball just _roll its eye_ at Arthur? Before he could process the possibility, the orb flitted around and shoved the small of his back. Startled, Arthur took a step forward. The orb pushed again. It felt like… sunlight, if sunlight were wind. Arthur took a couple more steps, and the orb came back around to float in front of him, slowly leading the way down the stone corridor. 

Alright, either this orb was taking him to the flowers, or it was taking him to his death. 

There was nothing malevolent about the warmth he had felt on his back, though. Arthur took a slow step, then a more confident one, and followed the orb. 

A few turns later, Arthur had a thought. That second sorcerer who had showed up… could this light be their enchantment? They certainly hadn’t looked like Nimueh’s ally. 

Arthur looked at the light. “If… if you are the sorcerer who fought Nimueh, and you mean me no harm, you can reveal yourself. I swear on the Pendragon name—” ok, maybe not, if this was a sorcerer “—I swear on my mother’s name that I will bring no harm to you.” 

The orb spiraled around him, nearly startling him off his feet, then continued down the path. No sorcerers popped out of the walls, though. Part of Arthur was relieved, the other part disappointed. A friendly sorcerer might have been able to help him sort out his thoughts. Though he supposed the friendly sorcerers _existence_ , in itself, would help him sort out some thoughts. 

Luckily, it only took another minute for the orb to lead Arthur to a wide chasm. Far above, he could see the light of day. In front of him, and a few body lengths up, were a collection of beautiful, sun-drop yellow flowers, growing directly out of the rockface. Those must be the mortaeus flowers. 

Between the ledge he stood on and the flowers was a seemingly endless drop into darkness. 

It seemed the orb had led him to his death and his flowers simultaneously. 

The orb pulsed proudly at him. 

“Oh, don’t be so smug you damn thing. The flowers don’t help me if I can’t reach them without _dying_.” 

The orb rolled its eye—itself?—again and floated down, revealing a ledge just wide enough for Arthur to jump to. Barely. He assessed the wall again. It was tall, for sure, but not too tall to climb, and looked like it had plenty of handholds. 

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He would never admit this to anyone, but he hated heights. And he couldn’t tell if seeing darkness instead of the ground he might fall too made the fear—hatred—better or worse. 

He slipped his gauntlets off his hands and into his belt, so he could feel and grip the stone better. He looked down at his sword. It was heavy and bulky and would not help him climb at all. But, if Nimueh was still around, waiting for him maybe, he would need it. Arthur looked at the glowing orb waiting patiently by the ledge.

“You better actually be on my side.” He readjusted his gloves and took off his sword belt. He threw the belt into the abyss and, taking aim, tried throwing the sword itself to the surface. It collided with the rock wall a body length from the edge and followed the belt into the abyss. So much for that. 

Arthur took a deep breath and launched himself, letting instinct and years of training take over and conquer is, yes, alright, his goddamn fear. He landed and, for a split second, though he wouldn’t be able to hold on. But he did, so the only thing left was to start climbing. 

***

In the forest, Merlin lay, face down and unconscious. His back oozed slightly where Nimueh’s fireball had hit him, but in his cupped hand was a glowing orb.

*** 

A few handholds away from the mortaeus flower, Arthur paused. There was a skittering coming form bellow him. Dreading what he would see, he readjusted himself slightly so he could look down, and his heart dropped. At least a dozen cat-sized spiders were crawling up the wall towards him.

He should have kept his damn sword.

The first one reached him and he kicked it down, holding on desperately with his hands. Before the next could reach, the orb swing around to his feet, glowing brighter and brighter until it _caught on fire_. The spiders hesitated, and the orb charged at one, setting it on fire and sending it plummeting into the abys silently. 

Grimacing, Arthur turned back towards the flowers, inching over. Another burning spider went spiraling down as he picked the first one. Then the second, and a third, and a fourth for good measure. Then, flaming magic orb guarding his back, he inched his way up the rest of the rock face. 

*** 

Panting and exhausted, Arthur dragged himself over the final ledge, grateful for the itch of grass on his face. He hated heights. 

He didn’t have time to rest, though. He was roughly northeast of the cave entrance, where his horse was. He had to make his way back and ride hard. 

He didn’t take more than two steps before the orb knocked into his foot, making Arthur hook himself in the ankle and fall flat on his face. 

He bolted back up. “You! What if I had crushed these flowers! My friends’ _lives_ depend on them!” He threw a rock at the orb and it bobbed out of the way, and Arthur’s heart decided to take two-beat vacation from its duties. 

It made no sense, but the orb looked so much like Merlin in that instance it dogged. The events of the last hour flashed before him—the orb _had_ rolled its eye at him! Before Arthur could say anything, the orb floated southwest, in the direction Arthur had to go, paused, and vanished. 

“Wait—Merlin? Merlin!” Had Merlin really survived? Was he here? The sorcerer who had fought Nimueh—was that him? He glanced around. “Merlin!” His voice cracked. “Merlin I’m—I’m sorry!” 

He didn’t have _time_ to look for Merlin, damnit! “Merlin, you useless manservant, show yourself!” 

Nothing. 

*** 

In the clearing by the cave entrance, Merlin stirred. He groaned as he gained enough consciousness to feel the pain in his back. It was _awful_ , but he had to make it back to Camelot somehow. Arthur! Had he won the battle? 

The body of the cockatrice lay there, no sign of Arthur. Nimueh was gone, as well, but Arthur’s horse was still grazing. It was well trained, and had fled from the battle, but returned for its master. 

Merlin, grimacing from the pain, unpinned his cloak and pulled of his shirt. Hands shaking from the pain, he used his magic to cut the tunic into a winding strip, giving him enough cloth to bandage his back. It was clumsy, especially because the injury didn’t let him move freely, but it would keep the worst of the dust off and stop some of the bleeding. He wrapped his cloak around himself and settled for waiting. He was in no condition to go looking for Arthur, and could just hope Nimueh had meant it when she said she was no longer interested in him. 

Merlin wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard footsteps. He pulled himself out of his haze enough to see Arthur _stomp_ into the clearing, muttering under his breath. In his hand, he clutched several flowers. His ungloved hand. And where was his sword? Had he gone for a swim in the caves or something? 

He watched as Arthur frowned around the clearing and muttered something that looked quite a bit like “I don’t have fucking time for this,” mounted his horse, and took off. 

Merlin counted to ten before calling his own horse over with beats-speak. Sweating, he pulled himself onto the saddle, leaning heavily on the horse. 

_\--Do you know the way to the citadel?--_

The mare answered with a general agreement, not quite intelligent enough for the spell to translate it into full words. 

_\--Return to the citadel, please--_

He hoped the horse was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, ok. Listen. This episode was just too good. Too amazing. The perfect flavor of drama. So I HAD to parallel it _strongly_ , I had no choice. The laws of the universe wouldn’t let me keep Merlin conscious for the whole thing. Also idk how Merlin would have made the orb if he was awake and well and the orb is IMPORTANT. THIS WAS ONE OF THE SCENES I FIRST THOUGHT OF. 
> 
> I toyed with making Nimueh a gray character but… she poisoned all of Camelot just in case it would kill Arthur and/or Uther? Nah.
> 
> Also. Since this is my first fanfic ever, it means I have zero (0) experience writing trigger warnings, so if you can, lmk if there's any etiquette I should know!


	20. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antidotes need to be administered, and an important question is answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my romance repulsed friends: there is a more romantic (i guess) scene this chapter after Gwen and Morgana wake up. Morgana is pretty emotional when she comes to, but its just one dialogue line. The line is right after "It seemed to take Morgana a few more seconds"
> 
> On to other authorly things: I made some minor edits to last chapter after re-watching the relevant episodes. Sue_Clover pointed out that Nimueh probably didn’t know Merlin was Emrys, and they were right! She’s just mad he killed the Afanc lol. So that’s the only thing I changed, she doesn’t know he’s Emrys and doesn’t call him that when they fight.

Arthur stormed through the gates, leapt off his horse, and ran through the castle to Gaius’ chambers. 

“How are they?” He asked, bursting through the door. 

Gaius looked up, face relaxing when he realized that Arthur had made it back in time. “They are alive still, but fading fast. I fear the poison has been magically tampered with.”

Arthur handed over the flowers. “Can you make the antidote?” 

Gaius hesitated, “I will do what I must.” 

Arthur tensed. Misunderstanding the source of his anger, Gaius turned to him. “It is only because the King ordained me—” 

“It is not you I am mad at, Gaius.” It was Arthur’s turn to hesitate. “Did you know? About Merlin?” 

Gaius’ hands froze. He didn’t answer. 

Arthur, facing the cots Morgana and Gwen lay on, nodded. “It is not you I am angry at, Gaius, but my father, and the extent of his hypocrisy.” He turned back to Gaius. “I would like to see.” 

Gaius’ hands shook, but he didn’t hesitate. He had patients to save, and Uther himself had commanded the use of magic. He was as safe as he would ever be, performing magic in Camelot. He spoke the incantation quietly, but didn’t whisper, and didn’t hide his eyes when they flashed gold. 

“It is done, sire. Please, hold their noses so I may administer it.” 

Arthur did, and both of them watched, tense, as Gaius dropped the precious liquid into their mouths. A few moments passed, and Gwen’s frown relaxed; Morgana’s eyes stopped twitching behind her eyelids and her jaw unclenched. A minute later, they both opened their eyes. 

Gwen was the first to speak, coughing a little when her voice gave out after her first attempt. “I had such a strange dream…” 

It seemed to take Morgana a few more seconds after that to fully register the world around her, after which she turned on the cot towards Gwen, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, Gwen. Gwen! I’m so glad you’re okay. Gwen, I thought you were going to die, never do that to me again.” 

After that, Arthur went to report to Uther and help him deal with Bayard. Gaius made tea, and helped push the cots together so the two women could hold hands as they rested. They were both exhausted and would need much rest and a second dose of antidote to fully recover, but they were both so glad to be alive that Gaius let them enjoy it for a while. Morgana had already been crying quietly, and Gwen cried much more openly when she learned of what Morgana had done. “Oh you silly girl, I would have let the wine spill if I knew you’d do such a thing!” 

And through it all, Gaius tried not to seem like he was horribly worried about Merlin. The afternoon was growing late, and he still hadn’t returned. 

*** 

The ride back to Camelot was much longer when one had to go at a slow walk, which was all Merlin could manage in his state. The horse did know the way, thankfully. Merlin recognized the patches of forest he saw in the moments he wasn’t dozing. Most of the time, he was in a limbo, not entirely asleep but largely unaware of his surroundings as his body, and his magic, tried to heal him and shield him from the pain. 

Thankfully, he woke again before the horse could lead him right into Camelot while he still looked like his very incriminating self. It took him a couple of tries before he successfully transformed back into Dragoon. He settled his cloak around him, carefully covering his bare chest, and grimaced as he straightened on the horse, trying to look like a regular, not at all suspicious old man who definitely had not fought and lost a magic battle. 

Luckily, the sun hadn’t quite set yet, so the guards didn’t look too closely at him or his stolen horse. He let her off in the courtyards, where she’d soon be found by some stable hand, and made his slow trek up to Gaius’ tower. 

***

Morgana and Gwen were speaking softly, still holding hands, and Gaius was finding it harder and harder to hide his agitation. If the girls hadn’t been so exhausted by their ordeal they probably would have noticed the way he kept turning and checking his different vials and ingredients, or resettling things on his table. 

A soft knock came at the door, and Dragoon slowly pushed the door opened. Gaius could immediately tell from the way he was carrying himself that he was in pain, but his eyes lit up when he saw Gwen and Morgana sitting up. 

“How lovely to see the two ladies awake. Gaius, mind giving me a hand? I’m afraid my old joints haven’t taken too kindly to all this excitement.” 

“Of course.” 

“Don’t touch my back,” Merlin murmured before Gaius could reach out to steady him, “Nimueh burnt me with some spell.” 

Gaius switched into physician mode, nodded, and took his arm by the elbow, letting Merlin redistribute some of his weight. “Let’s get you to the private room, there are no more beds out here. I can give you a tincture for your pain.” 

*** 

Merlin settled down on his old bed, waiting for Gaius to come back with whatever he needed to treat Merlin’s back. It was strange, being back in his old room. It had been largely cleared out, but a little bit of at-a-distance snooping revealed Gaius had kept some of his neckerchiefs in a small chest in the corner. Merlin smiled; he’d definitely be taking those back when he left. 

“Alright, Dragoon, let me take a look.” The door closed behind Gaius. “This might be easier if you undid the age enchantment.” 

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t think I could re-cast it if I undid it right now.” Moving his arms to take the cloak off made it clear to Merlin that his blood had dried onto his make-do bandage. “You’re going to need some warm water to get that off, I think.” 

Gaius nodded, gesturing to the bucket and cloth he had brought with himself. “How did you say Nimueh did this?”

“I got distracted when the cockatrice almost killed Arthur and she hit me from behind. I think it was a fireball, she cast one at me earlier. I passed out, but it seems she left, and I don’t think she gave Arthur any more trouble, either. It was strange. It looked like she was after me more than she was after him.” 

Gaius was glad he was seated behind Merlin. It was much harder to keep up professional appearances when the patient was like a son to him, and Merlin’s injury was quite large, and would need a long night of treatment. “Nimueh is a powerful enchantress. It is quite likely she sent the Afanc; perhaps she wanted revenge on you for killing it.” 

“It sounds like you knew her.”

“I did, before the Purge.” 

They quieted for a few moments as Gaius finished pulling the bandage off, Merlin digging his hands into the pillow on his lap. Gaius started cleaning the wound. 

“Gaius?” 

The old man hummed. 

“You’ve never told me why you stayed in Camelot, after the Purge. Or how.” 

Gaius’ hands stilled for a second. “In a minute.” 

A few minutes passed and Gaius laid a warm, clean cloth over the burn to soothe it while he gathered the right salves to treat it with. “You’re lucky. The fire might have been magical, but it hasn’t left any magical residue on your wound. It will be simple to treat.” He took a slow breath. “About your question…”

He started applying the first salve, pleasantly soothing against Merlin’s skin. “The short answer is Camelot was the only home I ever knew, and I thought I could help by staying.”

He paused, looking for the right words. “Before the Purge, the druids were a constant presence in Camelot. Back then, they had fixed camps at sacred spaces that they traveled between, instead of being fully nomadic as they have been forced to become now. They frequently came into Camelot to trade. As a healer, I spent a lot of time with them; they were well known for having some of the best healing magic. 

“They have never been opened about their prophecies, since they can be rather dangerous, but they weren’t fully secretive. They believed sharing information was important. Having been a friend of the druids for so long, I knew the generalities of many of the prophecies.”

He paused, gathering a new cream. “This one will burn a bit. You see, Merlin, the Purge was prophesized, but prophecies are very imprecise things. I have never heard the full prophecy, but it was known that a time of great difficulty would come to the magic users of Camelot. When, how, and why was unknown, and most Seers predicted that it was in the far distant future. We realized how wrong we were when Uther went mad.” 

He took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, give me a moment. You have a right to know, but I have never spoken about it.” 

The room was quiet for a few minutes. Merlin watched the sun set out the window and let himself haze into the pain a little while his mentor collected himself. 

Gaius started speaking again when the cream on Merlin’s back dried, slowly wiping it off with another warm cloth. “The prophecies spoke of a Mad King that would be responsible for this suffering. A few Seers, all from different groups, thought that Uther could become this Mad King. But they were only a few, and though Uther was a conqueror, he did not seem mad, so we did not worry. 

“Uther spared me because we had been friends, and because I prolonged Queen Igraine’s life long enough for her to hold Arthur once, even as magic killed her. 

“I helped people escape when I could. Mostly children, and a few elders. No one had expected the Purge, so no one hid their magic; Nimueh was a member of court. Uther knew exactly who to attack. But I couldn’t do much, because my position with Uther was precarious. It has grown more sure in the years since, now that Uther believes I have truly given up magic. But then, I couldn’t even cry in his presence for fear that I would be next. 

“And yet, I chose to stay. There was one more prophecy, one I’m sure you’re more familiar with. There was the Mad King, and later, there would be the Once and Future King, who would heal the land the Mad King had destroyed. This was the only prophecy I have known the druids to be secretive about, so I only knew a wizard would help this new King. I thought if either of them came while I was still alive, I should stay in Camelot; perhaps I would be able to serve as a mentor.” He gave Merlin a small pat on the shoulder. “It was also an act of defiance. Magic should stay in Camelot; it was not something I could ask of anyone else, so I stayed, and I kept practicing.

“It was only after you arrived in Camelot with your amazing gift, and spoke to the Dragon, that I thought perhaps I would live to see the second prophecy fulfilled.” 

The room was quiet for several long minutes as Gaius wrapped Merlin’s torso. The burn was the size of a child’s outstretched hand, mostly on his left side but spilling over his spine a few finger widths. It hit the bottom edge of his left shoulder blade and was almost perfectly circular. Merlin would not be able to move comfortably for several weeks. 

“Gaius? Are prophecies certain?” 

Gaius tucked the bandage and moved to sit beside Merlin, meeting the boy’s eyes. “I wish I could tell you, but I do not know enough about the Seeing arts to answer that question. The Purge certainly makes it seem so.” 

Another minute passed. “Thank you for telling me, Gaius.” 

Gaius put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Thank you for asking. It is painful and ugly, but these things should not be forgotten. And I thank you for helping me air an old would. Would you like to speak more of it?” 

“I… no. No, I think I’m too tired right now.” 

Gaius nodded and handed Merlin a small vial. “It will help with the pain, and is laced with a weak sedative to help you sleep. No one should disturb you tonight.” 

In a gesture of affection, Gaius held out his arms, and Merlin leaned in for the hug. Gaius smelled like herbs and old man, which Merlin would usually complain about, but was surprisingly grounding in that moment. He clutched Gaius’ back while Gaius was careful to avoid Merlin’s injury. “You are much too young to have this on your shoulders, my boy. Sleep well tonight.” 

*** 

Merlin settled into the bed, getting as comfortable as he could on his stomach. The medicine was slowly clouding his mind, but not enough to dull the thoughts about what Gaius had shared yet.

Through the door, he could hear the soft conversation happening in the main chambers. 

“It was so strange, Morgana… I dreamt Merlin was here, tending to us.” 

Morgana’s voice was quieter, and Merlin wasn’t able to catch what she said. 

“Yes, wouldn’t that be wonderful? If Merlin were okay somewhere. He deserved so much better.” 

Merlin shifted, tears welling up too quickly for him to stop them. Trying to contain himself, he focused on the shuffle of Gaius’ footsteps. 

“You should go to bed now, dears. Your bodies are still tired. Morgana, you will be able to return to your chambers tomorrow night, if you wish, but Gwen, you must stay here longer. I’m not certain how your transition potions will interact with the poison or the antidote.” 

It was such a familiar comfort, to hear Gaius tending patients and the quiet trust that everyone gave him in return. The potion slowly took hold, and Merlin drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve wanted to give you guys Gaius’ backstory for MONTHS. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. 
> 
> Also: I’m using warlock, witch, and wizard as synonymous, with wizard being the gender-neutral version. It’s used in the show in one of the earlier episodes, so I figured why not. I’m using it for people who were born with magic, like Merlin or Morgana. 
> 
> The counter is sorcerer, sorceress, and sorcerex, which are people who learned magic willingly, like Gaius or Tenn.


	21. Meet the Druids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin meets the druids, duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. FRIENDS. EVERYBODY. MOTHERS AND FUCKERS AND THE CROSS EYED HORSE. Guess what? My word doc hit 100 pages this chapter. I’ve never hit 100 pages on anything I’m so excited! CELEBRATE WITH ME, PEONS!

Merlin woke the next morning feeling momentarily confused, then extremely terrified, before remembering the events of the day before. He seemed to have transformed back into his young self in his sleep, and the exhaustion of the day before had passed. 

The pain hadn’t, he realized, pushing himself onto his elbows and sitting up. He didn’t have to worry about infection anymore, but even small movements pulled at the healing skin. Getting back to his home was going to be a _bitch_. 

Merlin wrenched himself the rest of the way up, turned back into Dragoon, and made his way to the main chamber. Morgana was gone, but Gaius and Gwen were speaking softly. 

“Good morning, Gaius. The tincture you gave me last night worked wonders, could I have some to take with me, by any chance?” 

Gaius looked up. “Dragoon, you are more than welcome to stay another night if you wish.” 

“Oh please, you know I hate the noise of the citadel. How can anyone think when it’s always ‘yammer yammer yammeryammer’? It’s a wonder you aren’t all stupider.” 

“Well then, let me look at the inflammation before you go. And do visit more often.” 

Walking a step behind Gaius, Merlin looked at Gwen and grinned, holding his finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion. He wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by it, but Gwen covered her mouth to giggle, so Merlin considered it a win. 

Back in his old room, Gaius took a quick look at his injury. “I really wish you could stay another night, Merlin. This won’t be easy to take care of on your own, much less with all the work I’m sure you have to do while out there.” 

“I can brew more powerful potions out there than you can in here, Gaius, you know that. I’m sure I’ll heal quickly.” 

“No, Merlin.” Gaius rested his hand on Merlin’s elbow. “It is a severe burn; you must truly be careful. Even with more powerful potions, it will take weeks to heal, and it will scar regardless. I know you are headstrong, and your stubbornness has saved you many times, but you can’t care for this alone. Not for the next two weeks, at the very least. I suggest you find the druids; I do not know where they are, but I suspect you may have an easier time finding them than most. They will help you.” 

*** 

Merlin packed to leave a few potions richer, and with a few pointers of Druidic culture than might help him find them. 

“Glad to see you better, young lady.” He said, passing by Gwen. 

“And you take care of yourself, sir, I’ve never met anyone quite as old as you.” Her smile faltered as she realized what she said. “I mean—its just you’re so old, and it would be awful if you passed, not that I think you’ll do that any time soon—and not that it’s bad to be old, its really impressive, I’m sure you’re very wise—” 

“Guinevere, dear.” He looked her in the eye. “I am the oldest man you’ll ever meet.” 

It took her a moment, but Gwen burst out laughing after that. “I’m sure you are, sir.” 

“Yes, I’m sure I am.” And then he remembered what she said last night, and how she seemed to miss him, and tears almost overcame him again, and he was tempted to tell her. Let her know he was alive, he was well. But that wasn’t a decision to be made so easily, and it was almost as dangerous to her as it was to him. So, he smiled and continued on his way.

*** 

Across the castle, Artur had decided that he had done enough thinking for half a lifetime, thank you very much, and he was still feeling quite rash and bold and angry at his father. He had considered being considerate to her, since she had almost died quite recently, but she made the decision to drink the poison herself, really, and they were too much like sibling on odd terms to be considerate to each other. 

So, he stormed up to her door, giving her only a few seconds after he knocked, and pushed his way in. “Morgana, we need to talk.”

*** 

Despite Gaius’ insistence, Merlin wasn’t sure he would visit the druids; he could walk fine, and he hardly wanted to bother them. He changed his mind almost as soon as he reached the woods; hobbling through the cobblestone streets of Camelot was one thing. Hiking through the woods was another entirely, and only got harder the more tired he got. Still, he had to get to his house before meeting the druids. Lancelot had been right, too: he was starting to wear a path from the edge of the woods to his house, so he cast a weak misdirection and confusion spell every few minutes. It should keep anyone from following the path to his place for the next few weeks. 

He took several minutes to rest after getting back to his house, then took a short nap on his stomach. Trust the physician to know what he was talking about. Gaius had given him a few pointers, but he hadn’t spoken to any druids since the Purge. They had always been semi-nomadic, traveling between different spots and feeding themselves with a mix of foraging and farming. They were small plots, left to grow in the camp’s off season before the druids returned. Merlin doubted any of the old campsites were still occupied, and he couldn’t me sure the druids had _any_ campsites anymore, but he figured following water was a good start. Gaius had said they had become fully nomadic since the Purge, but truly no one knew. The only camps that had been seen since the purge were destroyed soon after, making it hard to tell if it had been an overnight settlement or a seasonal camp. 

Merlin gathered some food, a couple more potions, and started following the river downstream. It was slow progress, and at one point, he slipped and fell backwards, catching himself on an outstretched arm. The jolt split the crust forming on him back, and he had to take a few minutes to rest. Merlin dearly hoped he could find the druids quickly. He walked all day, ate from his provisions, and had a restless night. The stronger pain potion put him to sleep, and a drug induced sleep was dangerous when alone in the middle of the woods. The few times he was able to drift off, he was plagued by nightmares. 

He woke up irritable the next morning but, continued on his way. At least he had plenty of drinking water. 

He walked a couple more days, doing his best to clean and rebandage his back each morning. Gaius was right that it would be incredibly difficult to take care of alone, but if he didn’t find the druids soon Merlin was worried the traveling would do more harm than finding the druids would do good. 

As the sun started to fall in the west, Merlin was considering whether the risk of a full night’s sleep was worth it. He had learned several warding spells, a couple of which he could use on the road that would help keep him safer. 

A calculated risk was probably worth it, right? He was so tired it was making him clumsier, and he kept hurting the skin on his back as it tried to heal. A drugged sleep would probably fend off some of the nightmares, too… 

Merlin almost didn’t notice the whisper of voices. He froze, panicking momentarily; if these were soldiers and they recognized him, he wasn’t sure he could run from them. It took him a moment to realize the voices sounded… off. Like they were being carried by the wind, or whispered underwater, or coming from the trees themselves. It was almost like he was hearing the voices directly in his mind. 

He tried concentrating on the voices, brining his magic to the surface for good measure. It felt like they were coming from a little further upriver, and a bit deeper in the forest? He took a couple steps in that direction and the voices got clearer. 

_”Come here, love!”— “Someone will need to go fishing later this week”— “the runestones” — “next season” —_

It must be the druid camp! Gaius hadn’t told him about any kind of mind-speak, but maybe it was something new, or something the druids kept to themselves. Merlin couldn’t block out the voices, but he stopped paying attention; it felt too much like eavesdropping. He followed the general direction of the voices, humming a little bit. As he got closer, he wondered if they could hear his thoughts.

“Hello, hello, hello? He-he-looo,” he sang, in time with his humming, trying to figure out if there was a specific way to broadcast his thoughts. He tapped into his magic a bit, _“Stranger danger I’ll eat from your manger if you let me--”_. The voices suddenly went quiet. _”Oops. Hello? Can you hear me? Oh damn I hope I’m not being rude—also I promise I won’t attack you or anything, I’ve got magic and whatnot, and I’m kind of hurt? I live alone in the woods and it would be hard to get stuff done right now so I thought maybe you could help me?”_

A second passed and no one responded. “Fuck, you’ve really fucked it up now, haven’t you, Merlin? Yeah, you discover some secret magic or some shit and immediately use it, probably rude as fuck _and_ gave them a heart attack, way to go—” 

“Emrys?”

“FUCK!” Merlin spun around, wincing, to face a middle-aged man in druid’s clothes. Right, the druids. “Uh. Hello?” 

The man’s eyes were looking a bit wide. “You are Emrys.” 

“Uh… I am Merlin, actually?” 

“Of course. Come, Merlin, you said you were hurt?” 

“Uh, yeah, yeah. This bigass burn on my back. Um, sorry if it was rude, doing that mind-speak thing. I heard you while I was walking and thought you’d be less afraid if I warned you first—”

The druid smiled. “There is no need to apologize, you were not rude. It’s a particular skill of druids, so we simply did not expect to hear it from a stranger and were startled.” He led Merlin through the trees. “My name is Cynmaer, I am the representative of our group. We will be happy to help you.” 

It took less than a minute to reach the druid camp. The trees grew slightly sparser and the underbrush faded away, leading to a semi-clearing with tents pitched against trees, in open spaces, and one that used a boulder as a wall. A large campfire sat off-center, in the largest space between trees, around which several druids sat. There were kids playing with each other, parents working with babies strapped to their backs, and a few berry bushes scattered around the edges of the camp. If Merlin looked in any direction long enough, he could see small acts of magic performed. 

It was nice.

“Merlin? Is it alright if I look at your injury? I’m sure the traveling has not been easy.” 

“Oh, yes. I can’t use the roads—I was found out in Camelot, so I really can’t risk being seen by a patrol. The number of times I feel while looking for you was ridiculous.” 

“Now that is something we are familiar with. We always travel off the roads; being seen is too dangerous. Many of our groups have taken in strangers whose skin made them fear being burned at the stake simply for looking too much like us.” Cynmaer held open the flap to a tent. The inside had a soft rug and several baskets filled with potions. “Do you need help removing your shirt?”

“I would appreciate it, yeah.” 

“This is quite the burn.” 

“Yeah, I think Nimueh was trying to kill me. Didn’t quite work but it sure has been a pain in my ass.”

“High priestess Nimueh?” 

“Yeah. She was probably mad because I killed the mud monster that was poisoning Camelot’s water supply and killing basically everyone. Hypocrite.” 

“Does it affect your sleep?” 

“Yeah, it almost seems to hurt more at night. Keeps me up. I have a few pain potions, but I didn’t want to risk sleeping too deeply while I was traveling.” 

“I’ll speak to Claye—they are the best of us when it comes to brewing potions. They can brew you something that will not affect your sleep.” 

Merlin nodded, grateful. “Cynmaer? Who is Emrys?” 

“You are, Merlin. Emrys is the title we have given you in one of our prophecies.” 

Merlin felt his stomach twist. “Oh. The Once and Future King?” 

“Yes; almost any prophecy speaking of the Once and Future King also speaks of Emrys; you are something like his counterpart. If I may, where did you come to know of the Once and Future King but not your own title?” 

“A grumpy dragon won’t stop talking about it. How are you sure I’m Emrys? We’ve never met before.” 

Cynmaer paused to think. “Many of us spend years learning to feel the flow of magic around us; it aids us in our work, our ceremonies, and our Seeing. It also helps us identify certain figures present in our prophecies. It is hard to explain to someone who has never experienced it, but when I saw you, I simply… knew.” 

“Oh.” 

Cynmaer finished bandaging Merlin’s back and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry, we will not treat you differently for it. I will go speak to Claye, now.”

Cynmaer hadn’t lied. The druids all called him Merlin, and even though Merlin sometimes noticed people staring at him, he wouldn’t have guessed his role in the prophecy if he hadn’t been told. He helped them make dinner and found out that they did cultivate some food, carefully arranged near the camp so it looked like wild growth. Night came in full, and Merlin almost wished he had taken his sleep-inducing pain potions. He wasn’t expecting to come to the camp and find out that his involvement in the prophecy was even _worse_ that what the Great Dragon had told him. Keep Arthur alive, create Albion, and be Arthur’s... counterpart? What did that even mean? It was all too… Big. And he’d seen so much violence already, protecting Arthur. He’d killed people, he’d been toasted and presumed dead by Nimueh, and all of his friends thought we was actually dead. Damn it, only a few months ago he’d just been the outcast from a tiny farming village! It was too much. Too much! 

Merlin tried to control his feelings, wiping the tears off his face. One of the families had offered to share their tent with him, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up. He heard a whine and the family’s dog flopped down next to him, laying its head near his side. “Hey, Fluffy,” he whispered, petting the dog. “Thanks.”

***

The week passed in a blur. He found a rhythm, helping with whatever tasks he could to keep the camp running. Either Cynmaer or Claye helped him clean and rebandage his burn every night, and when he wasn’t working during the day he got in the habit of learning and playing the different magic games with the kids. There was one where they would hover pebbles over their heads for as long as they could and see who won; Merlin always made sure to drop his first, which endlessly entertained the kids. Every few minutes the whole camp could heal peals of laughter as Merlin dropped a rock on his head and pretend to forget who he was, or how many fingers he had, or what a nose was called. 

And at night, sleeping next to Elwyne and her family, he tried not to think of prophecies. 

One day, in the beginning of his second week in the camp, Merlin caved and asked to talk to Cynmaer. 

“What is it, Merlin?”

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure where to start. “Its about the prophecies… I just. I feel so overwhelmed. Cynmaer, are prophecies inevitable?” 

Cynmaer smiled at him. “Far from it. I am sorry I didn’t realize how this was troubling you; I forget the outside world does not deal in prophecies the way we do. Come, I think you will benefit form talking to our elder Seer, Mebh.”

Mebh’s tent was the one by the boulder. It was one of the few Merlin hadn’t been inside yet; it was similar to most of the other tents, with the carpet for warmth and small, limited furniture; the main difference was the number of obviously magical items and the stacks of books. 

“Good day, Mebh.”

“Hello, Cynmaer. And young Merlin. I assume you are here because Cynmaer has told you some about Emrys’ prophecy?”

Merlin nodded, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. Cynmaer lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder before sitting behind Merlin, near the entrance to the tent. “Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s alright.” 

“What do you know about the prophecy, Merlin?” Mebh asked. 

“Only what the Great Dragon and Cynmaer have told me. The dragon told me that Arthur is the once and Future King, and we’re like two sides to a coin, and that I’ll help him return magic to Camelot and Arthur will unite all of Albion. Cynmaer just told me your prophecies call me Emrys, and I’m like Arthur’s counterpart?” He paused. “Oh, and Gaius—the court physician at Camelot, but he’s also my uncle—told me some about the Mad King and how almost no one thought Uther would be it, until the Purge happened.” 

Mebh nodded. “A motley of information, then. If you would let an old woman ramble, I would like to tell you more about the prophecies, but also how they are interpreted.”

Merlin nodded. 

“Well, then. The first thing any druid Seer learns as a child is that prophecies are often very imprecise; our human minds want to jump to connections and make sense of it, but most often, prophecies are vague, and can be interpreted many ways. 

“The prophecies you mentioned are unusual in their specificity, and even those left much to be guessed. The next most important thing to learn is that prophecies are _not_ definite. There are many prophecies that never come to fruition. Seers simply glimpse one of a myriad of possible futures; the visions often come when an event sets that future in motion, when the door to that possible outcome is first opened. Some come true in a matter of days, some in decades. Do you follow?” 

Merlin nodded, mind whirling. “But… the great dragon said I was _created_ by fate? That I’m a creature of magic? If prophecies aren’t definite, then why…?” 

Mebh shook her head. “Your prophecy is an unusual one. Most often, prophecies are formed around preexisting conditions. I do not know if Arthur is the true Once and Future King, as we cannot feel him the way we can feel you, though circumstances do seem to point to it, and the word of a dragon is always promising. 

“Fate does not control, but she can create players. The prophecy of Emrys and the Once and Future King are older than that of the Mad King; druids have long felt the balance of Magic tip and grow more chaotic, and Uther’s slaughter created a massive imbalance. Magic may have created you, Merlin, but your actions are your own. Your abilities give you the _potential_ to help Arthur create Albion, but the decision to do so is your own. Emrys and the Once and Future King is not a single prophecy, but a collection; there are futures where Arthur follows entirely in Uther’s footsteps and Albion is never born, and there are neutral futures. There are also, however, Albion futures, and many different prophecies predicting those. There is not one definite way, one ‘correct’ series of decisions you and Arthur have to make for this future to come and pass. 

“So, fate has played a hand, yes, by giving you the tools you would need and tying your fate to Arthur’s, which does nothing more than ensure you will meet. Everything beyond and other is up to the individual players. 

“You speak of the Great Dragon. His was once known by his name, Kilgharrah, before Uther imprisoned him and named him that… trifle name. Dragons are known to be natural born seers, with skills far beyond that of a humans’. They are also known to be deceptive, when giving tales of the future. Any prophecy should be treated with care; a Dragon’s even more so, as they can see a myriad of futures simultaneously, and can choose to influence the outcome. Kilgharrah has been chained beneath that castle for almost twenty years; I would not be surprised if he advises you through his anger.” She leaned forward and grasped both of Merlin’s hands in hers. “I’m sure that was a lot of information. Do you have any questions?”

“Arthur might not bring Albion? I…” Merlin shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or terrified that prophecies weren’t definite. If the future he’d been told of might not happen, then what of everything he had sacrificed so far? He was a dead man walking, he couldn’t ever live with his mom again! What about the blood on his hands? There was a comfort in knowing his actions were his own, but the downside meant that the choices he made could be _wrong_. 

He broke down in the tent, finally letting himself feel everything that had happened since he had arrived in Camelot. Mebh ran her thumbs in circles on the backs of his hand, and Cynmaer made them some tea, and Merlin let himself cry. He’d go back to being brave some other time.


	22. Gone Off Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin thinks with his brain, Merlin walks with his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that I went back and edited a bit of last chapter. I’d been really excited about the druids and the opportunity to introduce some more diversity in my characters, since other than Lancelot and Gwen the show is mostly white. And then, while writing this chapter, I realized that Merlin is a skinny white boy and by making the druids black I… yeah. Gave them a white, outsider, savior king thing. So, all the edit did was remove the bit where Merlin is a king/uniter figure to the druids, and instead emphasized him a bit more as Arthur’s counterpart in the prophecy, so you don’t have to re-read it if you don’t want to. 
> 
> Alright all you fuckers get virtual hugs because I GUESS I’m FEELING EMOTIONS so THERE. Now ignore me and go read the chapter. Shoo.

The rest of the week passed in something like a blur. Merlin’s back was slowly healing, and he could help out with more than just cooking dinner. He still had to be careful, but he was getting to the point where he knew he would be able to walk back to his house comfortably. He spent a lot of time with Mebh, relishing in the motherlike comfort she offered him as he struggled with what he had learned about destiny and what it could mean for him. 

Arthur… Arthur was a good person, raised by a horrible person. Merlin didn’t really doubt that. And being a prince, Arthur didn’t have any friends or strangers to learn from, so Arthur was good, but he was also an asshole. Still, without Kilgharrah’s version of the prophecy, Merlin wasn’t sure he trusted Arthur to bring about Albion and free magic. He could imagine it, but… did he believe in it? He didn’t know. 

And then, there was his magic. Merlin had always felt different, even taking his magic into consideration. He had assumed it was a lifetime’s accumulation of the fear in his mother’s eyes whenever she saw him use magic, the suspicious whispers of the townsfolk when they thought he wasn’t listening, the long, _long_ day after he told Will his secret and before Will came back, gave him a hug, and shared his own secret. But as he grew older, and his magic grew stronger… Merlin guessed it wasn’t normal, even for magic. Arriving in Camelot and having Gaius confirm it was a meager consolation, and Merlin struggled to find a _reason_ for all of this. _Why?_

If Albion was just a _possibility_ , and not a set future, then… that meant that Merlin might live and die and never fulfil the reason he was born with his power. Merlin hadn’t realized how _desperately_ he had wanted answers about his magic until the Great Dragon—Kilgharrah—had dropped him the shiny pearl of destiny and purpose in his lap. 

“And I just… Mebh, I just don’t know.” 

“Oh Merlin,” she hugged him tighter, “you don’t have to know. You came to Camelot looking for guidance and had more than any one person should carry thrown onto you, then you came here to heal and had it all overturned again. _You don’t have to know_. You have time to decide if you want to put your trust in Arthur; you have time to decide what you want to do with the power you have, even if it is to sit and grow strawberries in the sun. You don’t owe the world its salvation, Merlin.” She ran her fingers through his hair a couple of times. “We will always welcome you, regardless of how far we may be. You have family here, if you want it.” 

Merlin soaked up the comfort Mebh offered and missed his mom like he hadn’t since he was a kid. He sat by the river, letting the running water wash over his feet and cool him off, _(moping, honestly, what have I come to)_ until a squeal of laughter and a gaggle of five year olds toppled him into the river and demanded he entertain them. 

Cynmaer showed Merlin the ruins that protected the camp they were at, along with all the other camps the druids rotated through. They couldn’t risk visiting most of their holy sites anymore, and the more well known ones had been destroyed when the Massacre started, but a couple of the secret holy sites were still safe to visit. 

Claye taught Merlin how to brew the pain relief potion they’d been making him, along with a few brewing principles more common amongst druids than other portioners. 

He helped make dinner, harvested carrots, wild grapes, berries, and other assorted tasties, dropped more pebbles on his head to make kids laugh, pretended hiding behind a tree was effective, helped Claye brew some potions that the community was running low on, and spent more time with Mebh. 

Eventually, the two weeks he had planned on staying with the druids were over. They asked him if he wanted to stay, offered to take him in, give him a tent if he wanted one. Merlin was tempted, truly, but… he still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do about Arthur, and Albion, and Magic; the druids were wonderful and comfortable, but Merlin knew that if he stayed with them, he would just… keep thinking, indefinitely. 

He was going to go to Ealdor and see his _fucking mom_. 

*** 

Leaving the druid camp was bittersweet. Merlin hadn’t realized how much he missed being around people until he came to stay with the druids. Cynmaer gave Merlin direction to where he could find them at different times of the year, Claye gave him some potions and the kids all cried. Elwyine gave him a tiny bunch of flowers she had helped grow, wrapped in her favorite hair ribbon. Merlin hugged her tight and promised to visit, after which all of the other kids started demanding hugs and visits too. 

Journeys back always seem shorter, but travelling without a fresh injury certainly helped Merlin get back to his house much quicker. He spent a few days there, casting new wards around his clearing and creating the runestones Cynmaer had shown him. Now, anyone trying to follow the path Merlin had accidentally created would constantly get distracted, lose track of it, forget about it, or turn themselves around. If they came too close to the clearing, they would gently be redirected and would largely fail to notice it, seeing instead a dense and unfriendly looking bunch of trees. A simple spell was all Merlin needed to cast if he wanted to let anyone through the enchantments when he wasn’t around. Lancelot was first in line for that spell. 

Then he set off. He hadn’t been back to Ealdor in his month working for Arthur, and hadn’t had a chance to go back since running off into the woods, for obvious reasons. Gaius had sent a letter explaining what he could to Hunith, so she knew he was alive at least. Merlin hoped he wouldn’t regret visiting her. It was honestly much more dangerous to her than to him; Ealdor was close enough to Camelot that there was some suspicion towards those who had magic, and Camelot was known for going over borders to apprehend runaway sorcerers from time to time. They wouldn’t appreciate being put in danger. Maybe if he disguised himself as Dragoon…

Oh well, he had plenty of time to think about it. The journey was a about a week on foot, slightly longer if Merlin was careful to keep himself hidden. A few days into the journey Merlin decided it was worth the risk of walking on the roads; patrols were infrequent in this part of Camelot, and there was little chance any passing soldiers would recognize him. They weren’t looking for him anymore, after all. Still, he took an hour each night to find a place in the woods to sleep, just in case. 

Walking gave Merlin the space away from his thoughts that he needed. He would revisit everything he had learned when he got to Ealdor and could talk about it with his mom. For now, he was going to relish in the feeling of warm sun on his skin as summer started getting into full swing. The roads were peaceful, and he occasionally passed another traveler and exchanged short pleasantries, introducing himself as Bird whenever he did. The looks he got were only marginally surprised, but hey, tweet tweet looser. 

He did occasionally hide in the woods if he heard a patrol, always with a lie about _why_ ready in case the patrol saw him anyway. The go-to lie being that he needed a piss. Luckily, he wasn’t seen and he wasn’t challenged. Soon enough, the roads grew more and more familiar, and Merlin knew he was close. He made the rest of the walk as Dragoon, just in case he ran into someone he knew, and arrived as the sun set.

Oh, it hadn’t changed at all. 

Now to find someone he could talk to. 

He wandered further in, walking slowly. It wasn’t so late that no one would be out, he was sure he’d find someone in a minute. Fuck, he wanted to sit down. 

“Excuse me, sir? May I help you?”

Merlin turned around. It was Machar, one of Merlin’s old neighbors. “Ah, yes, thank you. I was hoping to spend the night under a roof, if I could. My old bones are one too happy with me for travelling, regardless of how agreeable the weather has been.” 

Machar chuckled. “I can imagine. I’m not nearly at your age, but my knees are starting to look for vengeance for all of the hours I have put on the field over the years. My house is quite full, unfortunately, what with all my children and grandchildren. I don’t think you would sleep quite well there.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it would be fine. If the trouble is too much I do have some coin.” Merlin had to play the part of the weary traveler, after all. He could always find his mom in the morning, somehow. 

Machar clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Coin! We’re not an in, sir, we don’t need your coin. I’m sure you’ll need it in your travels. Come, Hunith should have an extra cot now that her son’s gone off.” 

Ah well. Yes, that was him, the gone off son. 

“That boy was trouble, but I will say we’ve been much less lively since he’s gone.” 

Huh. Much nicer than most of what he’d heard in his time here, but Machar was always one of the nicer ones. He used to help his mom out, too, when Merlin was young. Before he went from being just a bastard to a particularly odd one. 

He followed Machar over to his old house. Odd, how in so little time it had stopped feeling like _home_. Seeing it still brought a wave of comfort over Merlin, though. After all, it was his home for years, and his mom was somewhere inside. Machar knocked on the door. 

“Hunith? There’s an old traveler here, he needs somewhere to spend the night.” 

The door opened.

Oh. _Oh_. It was his mom! Oh shit, oh shit, what should he say, uh… 

“M’Lady.” He bowed his head a bit. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, none at all, sir. I even have an extra cot.” Damn, he didn’t think she could recognize him. Very effective disguise. He couldn’t do anything with Machar standing right next to him, but damn he just wanted to hug her.

“I’ll see you in the morning, old man. Name’s Machar; Hunith here can show you to my place, I’m sure my grandkids would love to hear some of your stories.” 

“Oh, I’m not sure my stories would be of any interest to children.” He reached out to shake Machar’s hand. “Dragoon. Thank you for helping me out.” 

The stranger turned to Hunith, eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. There was something oddly familiar about him, but maybe it was just the way his blue eyes reminded her of Merlin’s. She hoped he was alright. 

The door swung closed behind Machar. Merlin was sure the whole village would know they had a traveler by morning; people didn’t stop by frequently. 

He hesitated by the door. “M—Hunith?” 

“Oh, there’s no need to stand by the door, come, sit. I’m sure you’re tired from your travels.” 

Merlin ignored her. “It’s me. Uh. I’m Merlin. Don’t be startled!” 

She turned to stare at him. She looked a bit suspicious—right, of course she did. He quickly disenchanted himself (he was getting pretty good at it by now). “Hey, mom.” 

“Oh! Oh, Merlin. Come, come away from the door, come here, oh I’m so glad to see you!” 

Mebh’s hugs may have been motherlike, but this was a real mom hug. Because Hunith was his mom. Merlin hugged her tighter. 

Hunith pulled a way a bit, patting the top of his head. “Camelot seems to have treated you well. You’ve grown!” She laughed, and Merlin joined it. 

“It’s all the outdoor weather I’ve been getting.” 

She hugged him again. “Come, eat something. You’ll have to tell me why you’re here. And when you started wearing earrings.”


	23. Sibling Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue conversation happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this is a bit of a timeline backpedal. Merlin gets to Ealdor about three weeks after this conversation between Arthur and Morgana. 
> 
> It's a short one, folks.

“Morgana. We need to talk.” 

“What the fuck Arthur, I’m tired. This better be important.” She moved out of the way just enough for Arthur to know she was letting him in, but not enough for him to get in without bumping into her shoulder. So, he made sure to bump into her shoulder. 

He was still feeling restless and upset, so he paced across her room and stared out the window before rounding back on her. Fuck it. 

“I think my father is wrong. About magic.” 

Morgana froze. She stared at him. She opened her mouth. Closed it. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You don’t scare me, I’ve heard you argue with him.” Arthur started pacing again. “Magic, I think he’s wrong about it. I mean Merlin—there was no way he was an evil, corrupted sorcerer. He saved Gwen’s dad, then turned himself in to save Gwen. Not bad people decisions. And—” He grabbed one of her chairs, then set it back down gently. Property damage should be restricted to his own room. “Gaius! He told Gaius to use magic to save you!”

“He _WHAT_?” 

“He told Gaius to use magic to save you! He said” and here Arthur pitched his voice deeper, “ _’use any means necessary, Gaius, because I’m a raging hypocrite’_ and Gaius was like” and here Arthur folded his hands and raised his eyebrows, “ _’I’m sorry sir but this flower is just too evil, magic can’t save her now’_ so I went and retrieved the antidote but—Gaius is one of father’s most trusted friends! And he practices magic? Or used to? And father has been exterminating magic users for—for twenty years now! I turn twenty this year, that’s how long he’s been murdering people!” 

Morgana sat herself down, composure slipping enough for her shock to show on her face, but didn’t interrupt. 

Arthur kept going. “So if he trusts Gaius, clearly magic can’t be this all-corrupting force, because Gaius is far from corrupt! And while I was getting the antidote, I ran into Nimueh—the witch that poisoned the chalice in the first place—and some other sorcerer pulled her into the woods and fought her, and I have no idea _why_ but they might have saved my life, who knows what Nimueh was planning. And then when I was lost in the tunnels this magical flying orb showed me the way, and it was kind of beautiful, and it saved me from these giant spiders and—” Arthur finally seemed to deflate a bit, drawing a breath. He threw himself into the chair across from Morgana, taking another deep breath before resting his head in his hand. “Morgana, its crazy but… the magical flying orb reminded me so much of Merlin. I—I think he might be alive, but I’m worried I’m just deluding myself because I feel guilty about his death.” 

They both sat in silence for a while. Morgana, processing everything Arhtur had said, and Arhtur, for a change, recognizing that Morgana needed a minute to think and letting her have it. He was a bit drained from his speech, anyway. 

“Arthur… I barely know where to start. Merlin…” she shook her head. “I was alive before the Purge. I lived with my father then. It’s only barely, but I remember the world before. I even remember seeing magic from time to time; it could be quite pretty. And my father—I don’t know if you’ve been told this but he never agreed with Uther about the Purge. Coming here after he died … it was so different. All of a sudden magic was evil, and any and all magic users had to be killed. It was terrifying for me. But I was never convinced. Honestly I’m glad you’ve gotten your head out of your ass for long enough to see that.” 

They exchanged wry smiles, then. Neither quite in the mood for their usual belittling humor. 

“As for Merlin… fuck, Arthur. I’m terrified of thinking he might still be alive because I don’t want to go through his death all over again if we’re wrong. I—I hope he is, but I don’t know.” 

Arhtur tilted back in his chair, balancing on the back legs and looking at the ceiling. “Its more than just the magical orb, though. It feels like so long ago now, but remember the poisoned water? Merlin was only declared dead because the poison cleared up, but he would never have done that in the first place.” The chair clacked back down. “ _Never_. And if he had the power to save Gwen’s father then maybe—maybe he did clear the water, but not by dying.” 

“Oh Arhtur, that’s…” she shook her head. She understood why Arthur was so fixated on Merlin, but… “I’m just too scared of being heartbroken again.”


	24. Bonding time x2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can’t my spellcheck recognize the difference between Arthur and Arhtur.
> 
> These next couple of chapters are short, but I've got one more written already, so yay!

Morgana spent the next three weeks in an emotional whirlwind. She knew Arthur wasn’t like Uther, but this was something she had never expected. Maybe he would calm down, given some time, and veer back towards his father’s opinions. But he had outright _condemned_ his father. He had been so _angry._

“What are you going to do?” She had asked him, a couple nights later. 

“Honestly, I have no idea. I can’t do _nothing_ , but I have no idea how to help. I’m worried I’ll make the wrong decision, and more people will be hurt. You know how father is—an escaped sorcerer just gives him reason to find two more.” 

Morgana considered telling him about Tenn, about the community of sorcerers living in Camelot, but… that wasn’t her secret to tell. And if it had been hard to convince Tenn to trust Morgana, bringing Arthur to their doorstep would be even worse. Besides, she had disagreed with Uther her whole life; her convictions were set. Arthur had only just started to come round. But hell if she wasn’t going to encourage him. Wouldn’t that be a fitting punishment for Uther: betrayed by those he was closest to. 

***

Merlin stayed up most of that night, talking to his mom. He told her about the Afanc and how it poisoned the water, how Gaius warned him, but he couldn’t stand to see Gwen so sad. How it escalated, how he could have just walked away, after telling Uther to his face that he had magic, because the man who had killed thousands _didn’t believe him_. How he stuck to his decision and was ousted for it. 

He told her about how freely he’d been using his magic since, how he could feel it growing and how much joy it brought him not to have to worry every second. About how Gwen and Morgana missed him. About Lancelot, and what a good friend he was, and his first time getting drunk because he didn’t have to worry about revealing his magic anymore. And, of course, about Lancelot’s parting gift. Here, they had to take a break, because Hunith was overcome with laughter. 

“I’m sorry, you just—you remind me so much of myself.” She played with his earring. “It suits you. Where did you get such a nice earring, though?”

“Oh, I got it from Gaius. He was going to give it to one of his partners, but I needed something from a set to enchant in case he needed to call me to Camelot. I’ll make one for you, too, before I go.”

“Is that what the hagstone is, then?”

“Yes! This one’s for Lancelot.”

“You’ve been up to so much.” She stroked his hair, smiling for a moment before her expression sobered. “I worry I’ve done you a disservice, by keeping you so hidden. You truly have grown, Merlin. There is something about you, now. Have you been happy?”

And the truth was, he _had_ been. Even though Lancelot was only one friend, and one he would see infrequently. Even though the loneliness sometimes got the best of him. He was happy and relaxed in a way he had never experienced before. That overwhelming sense of worry and fear of death that had followed him his whole life… it was gone. He had won. He had yelled in the Mad King’s face and survived to tell the tale. The fear of rediscovery was nowhere near what the original fear of discovery had been. “I am.”

He talked about prophecies, next. How he and Arthur were complements to each other; how Arthur had the potential to unite Albion, and Merlin had the potential to make sure that unity included magic. How he wasn’t sure what to do, and whether he believed in Arthur enough to work for that future. 

But really, as he told his mom the whole story, he found that he did know what he wanted to do.

Hunith was making their third cups of tea when Merlin got up. “I think I just realized something.” He pulled out the honey and raised his eyebrow. He was learning a thing or two from Gaius, so it was an impressive eyebrow. Hunith nodded. He spooned a large serving of honey into the two cups on the counter. “I don’t think it matters if I believe in Arthur or not. As much as I want him to be different from his father, to bring what the prophecies said… in the end, what he does isn’t my responsibility. I’ll make my own decisions, and if those include helping Arthur, they do. If they don’t, they don’t. 

“And I want to help people. I don’t think it matters that there are prophecies about me doing it. Sure, they make it scarier—they’re like these hyper expectations—but I _want_ to.”

“Oh Merlin,” Hunith said, hugging him. “I am so, _so_ proud of you. And I will be, no matter what you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints at merlin suspiciously* are you listening to my therapy sessions because that’s the growth I’m aiming for, kid


	25. Not Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has to deal with even more revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended last chapter there because I was proud of that author’s note and didn’t want to ruin the joke. My hubris will be my downfall someday. Anyway: the conversation continues

Merlin cupped his mug of tea in his hands. “There is one thing that’s been on my mind, though. Before I left, and especially before the druids, I got most of my advice from a dragon chained up beneath Camelot.” Merlin didn’t notice how his mom’s expression changed. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but… he’s probably been there since the purge. _Twenty years_ , kept in a dark cave. It isn’t right. And all I ever did was ask him for advice. I didn’t even know he had a name! Kilgharrah.”

“Shit.” Hunith whispered. 

“Mom?” Merlin asked, surprised.

“I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll tell you when you’ve finished.”

Merlin hesitated a bit before continuing. “Well… I think I should free him. It’s not fair he’s been locked for so long. And if I want to help people, I might as well start with him.”

“I think you’re right, dear. Twenty years is a long time.” She rested her head in her hands, and Merlin looked at her expectantly. _“Fuck Uther.”_ She looked back up at Merlin. “I know I’ve never talked about your father. I missed him and was angry at him in turns, and then you grew, and your powers grew, and I was worried.”

She stared at the wall for a moment. “I’ve heard of Kilgharrah. Your father,” she hesitated, “your father was fleeing form Uther and his Massacre when we met. He… he was a dragonlord. I don’t fully understand what a dragonlord is, but I know they have some level of control over dragons. Uther had most of the dragons killed during the Massacre, but Kilgharrah was old, even then; he was willy and powerful. Uther convinced your father that he wanted to make peace with Kilgharrah, and your father believed him. Kilgharrah didn’t. It was a trap. Your father fled, thinking he’d led the last of the dragons to its death. 

“We met as he traveled through here. He stayed as long as he could, but it wasn’t safe for either of us. I didn’t know I was pregnant when he left, and haven’t heard from him since.”

Merlin sat in silence. He’d known very little about his father. He had his hair, apparently. His father was kind. He had assumed his father was a sorcerer, but hadn’t been told. He had not expected _this_. 

Hunith looked at him. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry. You came here because you had so much on your mind, and I’ve gone and added even more to it. Your father talked about Kilgharrah a lot, and when you said his name…

“And I know I’ve kept a lot hidden, but I never wanted to lie to you about your father.”

Merlin nodded, feeling slightly detached. “Why…” he cleared his throat. “Why were you worried?” He looked away. “I wanted to know about him so much, growing up.”

“He didn’t speak much about being a dragonlord, so I don’t know much about them. I do know it is passed down from father to son. I don’t know how, or how much. I was worried that if you knew, you would learn to use whatever dragonlord powers you have. A dragon is a lot harder to hide than a flash of golden eyes.”

Merlin shook his head. He didn’t fault his mom for being protective. He didn’t fault her for her decisions. Being the mother of a bastard was hard enough, and he’d learned to float objects before he learned to walk. She just wanted to keep her baby alive. But still… part of him hurt. And learning that he’d missed out on stories of his father because of the same fear hurt. He didn’t fault her, _but it hurt_. 

“Why now?”

“You’ve grown so much, and you’ve learned to control your magic so much better. And you sounded so happy, talking about using your magic freely. And I didn’t want to lie about your father, and you’re far too old to be dismissed.” She shrugged. “You deserved to know. You’ve always deserved to know.”

“ _But why now_ ” He stood up and started pacing. “I haven’t had a magical accident in _years_. And you _know_ how important my magic is to me, how much I relished in any opportunity to use it. And I’m not much older now than when I left for Camelot. So _why now_?”

“I suppose I have always been too afraid, too hesitant, to do it on my own. But Kilgharrah was such a surprise, and if you’re going to free him you _have_ to know. You gave me an easy opening.” She watched him pace. “I’m not proud of it. You’ve always deserved to know.”

“I’ll…” Melin ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I understand. But I need time.” He sat back down. “Can I know his name, at least? Before we go to bed?”

“His name was Balinor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW’S THAT FOR DRAMA
> 
> Note: these last chapters have just been ellipsis…. galore.


	26. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will :)

The next morning, Merlin decided to find Will. He was grinning just thinking about it. They’d always been close, and it had been far too long since they’d spoken.

“I’ll bring him over.” Hunith said. “You can’t exactly walk up to him looking older than a mountain and tell him you’re Merlin.” 

So, an excited Will followed Hunith back to her house, expecting to help her get a bat out and finding instead a “fucking long lost fiend of a friend!” 

“Hey, Will.” 

And that was all it took before they dived into conversation. 

“I can’t believe you spent a full month skivvying for a prince.” 

“Oh, Arthur was a horrible boss! But he wasn’t a bad person. I might even say he was a friend.” 

“C’mon, Merin, a prince?” 

“This one can supposedly unite all of Albion, if he gets his head out of his ass long enough to look around him.” 

Will raised his eyebrow. Merlin grinned. “What can I say, he was fun to tease. You’d grow to like him, too—you wouldn’t be able to help it.” Merlin said. “After punching him at least once, of course.” 

Will told Merlin about all of the shit he’d been up to the past couple of months, and Merlin told him about all of the non-life threatening trouble he’d been in. Saving Arthur had kept him busy, but not so busy that he couldn’t get himself into the normal kind of trouble. His crowning moment was when Arthur sent him to muck out the stables so often that Merlin managed trained all the horses so they’d only respond to the knights when they baby-voiced them. Arthur’s face when he realized he’d have to baby-voice his horse if he wanted to go on a hunt was worth at least 3 more banishments. He was so embarrassed he canceled his plans that day. 

“Have you pranked him since?” 

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“You know, since running off to be a maiden in the woods.” They both sniggered. 

Merlin grinned. “I did, actually. Moved all his furniture around and shrank some of his clothes. Its less fun when I don’t get to see his reaction, but I’m sure that gave him hell for a while.” 

Will shook his head. “I still can’t believe _you_ ended up assigned to the magic hating _Prince_ of Camelot by the magic hating _King_ of Camelot.” 

“Honestly, Will, Arthur isn’t like his father. He came down to talk to me, the day I was arrested. Figured out that I saved him those other two times. _And_ he wanted my friend Gwen spared, when everyone still thought she was the sorceress. And when he left the dungeons, the guards were asleep, and he didn’t wake them. Part of him wanted me to escape, I think.” Merlin shook his head. “I wonder what would happen if I had stayed, though. If I could have helped him change, helped him understand magic before telling him my secret.” Merlin laughed. “I guess I’ll never know.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, Merlin.” Will shoved Merlin with his shoulder. “Now how about I tell you my _far superior_ prank ideas, and then you can show me some of your new fancy tricks?” 

***

Unfortunately, Merlin had to leave that evening. He was supposedly traveling in order to make it in time for the birth of his first great-grandchild, after all. 

He hugged Hunith tight. 

“I hope you can forgive me, Merlin.” She said.

“Oh, mom, of course I do. I just… just need some time to get used to it.” 

Will had come over again, so they could say goodbye properly. 

“This place has been boring without you,” he said, smiling. “It was good to see you again.” 

“You too, Will. Stay in trouble for me, will you?” 

And so, Merlin was off, back to Camelot, feeling much more settled than he had in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not tell you why these Ealdor chapters have been so hellishly difficult for me to write. Just. So much effort.
> 
> Anyway, another short but (hopefully) sweet chapter. I suspect next one will be much longer, so lets see what happens.


	27. Old lizards can still learn New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> strawberry bargains and broken chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My classes start on Monday. I’ll keep writing, obviously, but expect the updates to slow down.

Merlin wondered how many perfectly good strawberries he’d missed out on in his time away. Probably so many. Probably enough that if he’d eaten all of them, he’d have felt sick. What a pity to miss out on them. Oh well, the season was plenty long, there’d be a lot left. 

He trudged his way through the woods, close enough to Camelot to need to be careful. Only a little longer and he’d get to sleep in his fucking _bed_ again. Maybe he’d make a little strawberry graveyard first, though. Finally, the trees around him started to look fully familiar, and he noticed the path he had worn through the trees up ahead. A quick pulse of his magic confirmed that his wards were in full working order. Humming to himself, he followed the path towards his home.

And froze. 

Surrounding his strawberry bushes was a cloud of little glowing forms, darting around. Except for when every single one of them seemed to freeze simultaneously, before a small group floated—buzzed? Flew?—over to Merlin. 

_It’s the fae!_ Merlin realized as they came closer. Shit shit, what had his bestiary said about the fae? They were all about exchanges and promises, otherwise power would bind them to the outsider. Usually to the benefit of the fae. 

_”You smell like the strawberries. “_ one of them said. They were flittering around too quickly (and too brightly) for Merlin to get a proper look at them. 

“Er, yes? I grew them, they might have some of my magic in them.” 

Did the fae have power over names? Or was that the Sidhe? Ah shit, Merlin did not feel ready to be having this conversation. Their power was affected by so many seemingly random rules, there was no way Merlin remembered all of them. 

The fae chittered excitedly among themselves for a minute, before turning back to Merlin. _”We would like an exchange.”_

Oh damn, okay. This was… remarkably straightforward so far, which somehow left Merlin feeling more terrified. Could he ask what they wanted? Was he _supposed_ to? 

Something about having them ask for what they wanted first didn’t sit right with him. “What will you give?” he said, hoping he wasn’t about to be spirited away forever. 

There was more conversation Merlin wasn’t privy to. They sounded a bit like woodchips. 

_”What will you have?”_

Oh, okay. Had he asked the wrong question? They didn’t seem mad. Or any more excited than they had been, before. But how could he ask for something, if he didn’t know what he was giving? They clearly wanted something from him, since they had asked for an exchange. 

“I will have the equivalent of what I give.” Whatever the fuck that meant. If this riddle-like conversation went on any longer, he’d have no idea what he was bargaining anymore. 

_”You will give—strawberries—magic—food—"_

Oh. _Oh_. That made sense. The fae fed on magic imbued in the environment. He supposed his magic-grown strawberries had some magic in them still, if they smelled like Merlin. Gourmet fairy food. What did he want in exchange? He really didn’t mind giving them some strawberries, but that’s not how the fae worked… damn, he needed to think quick. Gourmet food seemed like a big ask. Something that would be helpful to him, that he couldn’t easily do himself… aha! 

He tried not to grin. “I will have eyes.” Wait, he should clarify. “Eyes watchful of Camelot, so I can know if I am needed in case of threat or trouble.” Were they as tricky as genies?

More wood-sounding chittering. It was kind of relaxing. The discussion continued. Shit, had he asked for too much? Actually, should he have just denied the fae their exchange? He hadn’t even thought of that. Shit. _Could_ you even deny the fae an ask? Did they kill you or something? 

Finally, they turned back to him. _”We give you eyes over Camelot, and you will give us magic—strawberries—food—-so be it done.”_

His bestiary had prepared him for this part, at least. “So be it done.” 

He felt a strange tingling as magic bound the contract. The fae slowed down as the magic bound them, too, giving Merlin the opportunity to see what they looked like. They were jewel-looking in the way beetles were, with multifaceted, glowing, golden eyes. They had long, almost insect-like legs, and wings he could barely see, they were beating so quickly. Something like a humming bird’s or dragonfy’s. 

Then time sped back up around them, and all Merlin could still see was the glow of their eyes. 

He went into his home, changing out of his dirty travel clothes and changing his bandages, letting the fae do what they wanted to with his strawberries. Damn, wait, how much would they take? Shit, if they ate everything this exchange wasn’t worth it, never mind having tiny magical spies. Strawberries were more important. 

When he came back out, the fae were gone. He went over to his strawberry bush, popping the first strawberry he saw into his mouth with relief. They hadn’t taken everything, then.

Poking around more carefully, it looked like they had taken at least a few strawberries. Curious, he reached out with his magic. Huh, he could feel the magic he had used to help grow the plant in some of the fruit, but not all of them. Had they just eaten the magic, somehow? Either way, he was careful to pick only the magicless strawberries for his snack.

Merlin hadn’t seen Kilgharrah over a month, but he was too tired from his travels. Tomorrow. 

*** 

Merlin was surprisingly nervous as he snuck his way to Kilgharrah’s cave the next night. He’d only visited the glorified lizard a couple of times, and was still intimidated by his sheer, massive size. He could probably fit multiple houses in his frame. It should be illegal. 

More than that, though, the idea of freeing him was both exciting and terrifying. 

He hesitated several feet from the entrance to the cave, trying to calm himself. Okay. Okay, he could do this. 

He walked into the cave. Kilgharrah wasn’t there, so Merlin took the opportunity to look around the cave properly. It was huge. It also looked like a shit place to spend twenty years. 

“HEY!” He yelled. “I’M BACK!” 

Soon, the sound of massive wings filled the stale cave air. Kilgharrah perched on his rock; it was barely big enough for him. 

“Young warlock. I was beginning to think you had died.” 

Merlin shrugged. “I outed myself to Uther almost two months ago. He thinks I’m dead now, so its fine.” 

“Merlin!” Oh, Kilgharrah sounded mad. “Your recklessness may have endangered your dest—” 

“—Is your name really Kilgharrah?” 

Kilgharrah would have bristled more at the interruption if Merlin had said anything else. Dragons didn’t stammer, of course, so he turned one of his eyes towards Merlin and regarded him carefully for a moment before answering. “It is."

“Cool.” Merlin really wasn’t sure how to broach the topic of freeing Kilgharrah. “I met the druids.” 

Kilgharrah raised his… eyebrow… ridge. “Is that so?” 

Merlin nodded. “They told me about my destiny. How I’m part of Arthur’s prophecy, and that, in prophecy, my name is Emrys. They also told me,” and here he couldn’t help but let some resentment creep into his voice, “that prophecy is not fixed. I got quite a crash course in how prophecy works, actually.” 

Kilgharrah stared at Merlin for a solid minute. Merlin, to his credit, didn’t break eye contact. 

“I simply wished to bring about Albion.” The dragon finally said. He leaned his head closer to Merlin. “Now tell me, _Merlin_ , is there a reason for your visit?” 

“There is.” Merlin took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. “I want to free you.” 

Kilgharrah looked stunned. Merlin didn’t think he would ever manage to stun Kilgharrah again, so he made sure to remember how the strangely expressive reptilian face looked in that moment. 

Kilgharrah continued to say nothing. Merlin looked at his hands, where he was wringing them together. The silence was making him nervous, so he decided to keep talking. “I decided to when I was with the druids—they’re the ones who told me your name. I hadn’t… it shouldn’t have taken me this long to think of it. Its not fair.” The dragon still didn’t say anything. “And then I went to see my mom in Ealdor, and—she told me about my father. She’s never told me anything about him before.” He looked back up at Kilgharrah now. “Did you know my father was a dragonlord? My mom said his name was Balinor.” 

Merli was wrong. He _did_ manage to stun Kilgharrah again. 

“She told me what happened. How you ended up here—or what she knows of the story. It just made it even more important for me to free you.” 

Merlin didn’t have anything else left to say, so the silence stretched longer. 

Finally, Kilgharrah spoke. “Any more revelations, Merlin?” 

Merlin chuckled and shook his head. 

“It is indeed Balinor’s fault that I have been chained to these caves for so long. I told him Uther was a liar, I _told_ him the truce was a trap. When he couldn’t convince me to come, he commanded me. But—” and here, the building anger in his voice faded a bit “—I sensed no dragonlord power in you, so he is still alive, somewhere.” 

That was—that was something. News, for sure. Merlin put it aside for the moment, though. He had gone his whole life without his father, and as exciting as the hint of a possibility of meeting him was, the thought could wait a little longer. So could the implication that Merlin wouldn’t have any dragonlord powers until his father died. 

“So, do I just—” Merlin waved his hand towards the chain at Kilgharrah’s ankle “say a spell? I know a few spells that would work on ordinary chains, but I assume the enchantment’s on yours would make them a bit harder to break.” 

Kilgharrah huffed, a lazy trail of gray smoke rising from his nostrils. “You will need a sword to accompany the spell. The chains are enchanted against dragonfire, but Uther was arrogant. Capturing me was his final victory in the Purge. They have few other enchantments stopping them from being broken.” 

Merlin nodded and came back a few minutes later with a sword from the armory. Uther’s sword. He could appreciate some poetic justice. Kilgharrah breathed the spell into his brain—and what a bizarre experience that was—so Merlin got to work climbing down into the cavern. It looked worse the lower he went; damp and grey and little else. He then had to climb back around to make it up Kilgharrah’s perch, where the chain was driven deep into the stone. Merlin paused. 

“Before I do this,” he said. “Well, no I’m going to free you regardless. But I ask you not to take your revenge on Camelot. I don’t give a _fuck_ what you do to Uther, but—the people aren’t to blame for any of his actions. Think you can refrain from raining hellfire down?” 

“And if I do rain hellfire?” 

Fuck, Kilgharrah loomed even more impressively when Merlin was standing almost directly beneath him. “If you do, I’ll have to find a way to stop you.” 

Kilgharrah nodded. “If I see Uther, I will kill him with no hesitation. Don’t let your mercy be your undoing one day, young warlock.” 

Like hell Merlin would stop Kilgharrah from biting Uther’s head off. He raised the sword high over his head and chanted the incantation. It was long, and required some power, but wasn’t _difficult_. He brought the sword crashing down, and the chains burst apart with a bone-jarring sound. 

Kilgharrah shook himself like a cat and looked down at Merlin. He couldn’t help but grin at the spark in the dragon’s eye. 

“Let me show you what a dragon is _supposed_ to experience.” 

Merlin whooped in excitement as he climbed onto Kilgharrah’s back. The dragon tore out of the cave with a thunderous roar and a plume of fire into the sky. He circled back to Camelot, and Merlin could feel the rumbling laughter throughout his whole body. He shot across the land between the cave and his destination and roared again as he landed on the castle. Stone crumbled under his claws, and Merlin heard some of the castle windows shatter and people scream. He could only laugh and the glee in Kilgharrah’s voice. 

“UTHER PENDRAGON!” The dragon said. “ONE DAY, YOU WILL PAY FOR EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR SINS, AND I WILL LAUGH OVER YOU GRAVE!” He took off, yanking some stones out of place as he did. Merlin couldn’t fault him, really.

Kilgharrah hovered in the air for a moment. “YOU CANNOT DENY THIS LAND ITS MAGIC FOREVER.” 

And he was gone, flying across the forest, silhouetted in the starry sky. Merlin couldn’t help laughing as he spread his arms and shared in Kilgharrah’s joy. Whatever the future may hold for him, he would never regret this decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new tricks being, in this case, not trying to set every inch of Camelot on fire.
> 
> Was I known as the dragon kid in elementary school? Absolutely. What did you expect? I’m aroace AND I have good taste


	28. He’s 11 so Shut the Fuck Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite not-murder-child is introduced. Family dinner is awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: physical violence. Description in end notes.
> 
> This is one _dramatic_ chapter, everyone, I had a blast writing it. 
> 
> Can't remember if I mentioned this last update but my classes started, I'm applying to jobs AND I'm writing a thesis, so chapters will come whenever they come. I'll keep working on updates but no level of frequency can be promised lol. 
> 
> There is some tasty dialogue Frankensteining from the show this chapter, obviously I don’t own that shit.

“YOU KEPT A DRAGON LOCKED IN A CAVE?” 

The guards outside the door glanced at each other as prince Arthur yelled at the King. They were glad the general consensus of the populace was reaching Uther. 

“YOU KEPT IT FOR _BRAGGING RIGHTS_?”

The prince was truly a man of the people. 

*** 

Arthur was only glad the dragon had done no real damage. He was afraid the dragon’s escape would lead his father on another witch hunt, but in the interest of his pride, Uther decided to keep quiet instead. He ordered the windows repaired and went on to completely ignore the event. 

Arthur didn’t even know how anything surprised him anymore. Dragons could talk. His father had locked one up in a cave no one knew about as a show of force, and then proceeded to show his force to no one. The show of force had escaped, which is exactly how not to show force, so his father decided to ignore the event entirely, like the hypocrite he was. His father had _also_ killed all of the dragonlords, so if the show of force ever came with the intent to show its own force, Camelot was well and royally—literally—fucked. 

*** 

One of the broken windows was Morgana’s. She moved to a new room temporarily, while her room was repaired.

*** 

Those small, secret pockets in Camelot had a grand old time getting drunk. A few remembered when Kilgharrah was caught and—before the events of the night proved them wrong—killed, and seeing him land on the castle and declare his freedom was a sight to behold. Those who were too young to remember Kilgharrah and the dragons were just glad someone had told Uther to go fuck himself and lived to tell the tale. Either way, celebration ensued. No one had noticed the tiny warlock on the dragon’s back.

*** 

Kilgharrah flew far, the joy of being free making him completely forget the young man he was carrying with him. Merlin just thought it was a treat, and alternated between watching the ground soar by and cheering into the wind. 

Eventually, Kilgharrah landed. 

“So, where are we?” Merlin asked. 

Kilgharrah turned to around a little faster than was regal and tried to compensate by glaring. “Far enough from that wretched castle to get its stink off me.” 

“Alright, well, can you fly back into the stink a bit? I want to go to bed before next week.” 

“I am not a horse, Merlin.” 

“No, only a kidnapper apparently.” Melin rolled his eyes. “You flew for what, an hour? More? Are we even in Camelot anymore? Because I have no food, no water, and no travel supplies with me. Plus, I just got back from a significant amount of travel, and accidentally made an exchange with the local fae just yesterday, so I really think I should go back home soon.” 

Kilgharrah glared some more. He really didn’t want to admit that he had forgotten about Merlin; he was much to old and noble to be overtaken by excitement like a young drake. “We will leave in the morning, then.”

Merlin settled down to sleep as close to Kilgharrah’s warmth as he dared. Kilgharrah stayed awake for a while yet, watching the stars. 

Perhaps he had done the boy a disservice with his advice. 

*** 

In time—time being, in this case, about a week—the people in Camelot moved on. They did not forget, obviously, because you can’t just forget that a massive dragon landed on your castle and yelled at your king, but they moved on and got back to their regular lives. The children still played copious amounts of _’dragon and knight’_ , seemingly undecided on whether the dragon or the knight was the bad guy, but the market was no longer congested by people trying to hear every ounce of gossip they could about the event. 

Morgana had a slightly harder time moving on, for reasons that were entirely personal. Her window had broken before the dragon landed, she was sure of it. She refused consider the implications of that thought. She was also determined not to acknowledge that she was dreaming of a dragon moments before she woke up startled, images of golden fire against the stars in her mind. Then there were broken windows, roaring dragons, and endless gossip to worry about.

Today, she was taking a stroll through the lower town, accompanied, as usual, by Gwen. She had been woken that morning by yet another nightmare—this one of a young boy being chased by swords through streets that looked remarkably like Camelot’s—and decided to take a morning walk to clear her head. Her presence in town had nothing to do with a worrying suspicion she had about her dreams, and nothing to do with the fact that she was sure dream-boy was a druid. She simply enjoyed leaving the castle from time to time. 

*** 

Tenn watched as the two druids—one, a young child, maybe nine years old—approached the stall. They knew the vendor was one of the network, though no directly tied to Tenn themselves. Still, the druids had done little to disguise themselves, and the adult walked around like someone who knew they shouldn’t be there. 

Tenn saw the merchant apologize, and noticed the guards approaching from both ends of the street, and knew they had lost another member of the network. It happened from time to time—it was inevitable. Fear sometimes took over, no matter how hard people fought against it. Sometimes it was to protect family members, sometimes it was out of desperation for money, and sometimes out of the mistaken belief that betraying their neighbors would offer some protection the next time a witch hunt happened in town. In any case, the network was built to survive betrayal. Even Tenn did not know its full extent and all of its members, and they had far more knowledge than most. The man across from them likely could not name more than a handful of other magic sympathizers. 

It was sad, but they had built it to survive capture, and torture, and betrayal. 

*** 

Morgana decided it was time to return to the castle. As she and Gwen walked through the courtyard, there was a commotion by the gates. They turned in time to see a druid bring down the gates and a young boy dash in; they only just saw the guards tackle the druid before the gates closed. 

Since it was the middle of a market morning, Gwen and Morgana were the only ones around to see the boy run and throw himself down in a corner, trying to hide before the guards came.

Morgana didn’t even hesitate. She walked over and stood with her back to him, her long cloak hiding him from view. 

“I live in the castle; I can help keep you hidden.” 

Gwen, only one step behind, linked her arm with Morgana’s and smiled as if she had said something funny. “We’re friends, I promise.” 

A guard ran into the courtyard; the gate was still shut, he must have come around. “Lady Morgana! Please, it is dangerous. There is an escaped druid, you must go inside.”

“I will accompany her,” Gwen quickly stepped in. If there was one weakness to Morgana’s lies, it was that she refused to condemn magic users. The guard nodded and ran off, looking for the boy that was hidden just in front of him. 

“Hand your cloak to Gwen, quick.” 

The boy scrambled to obey. They could hear more guards coming, and it sounded like the gate would be opened soon. Gwen folded it quickly and added it to her basket. 

“Try to hide under my cloak. The door is right there.” Morgana had worn her dark red one; it was a little long to be convenient for market, but now she was incredibly glad she had chosen to wear it. 

Morgana flipped her cloak expertly as she turned toward the door, and the boy tucked himself behind her. Anyone paying attention would notice her cloak didn’t billow as it should, but Gwen stood on her courtyard-side and helped hide the druid boy further from view. 

Hearts pounding, they made their way inside, through the hallways, and to Morgana’s chambers. They had been almost there when Gwen had run off to distract another servant coming their way, asking about some arrangement or other. 

Finally, the door shut behind Morgana. The druid boy gasped—the first sound he had made—and clutched his arm, dropping himself to sit on the floor. 

“Oh, no, what wrong?” Morgana asked, kneeling next to him. “Please, let me see…”

There was a long gash across the boy’s arm, running from near his shoulder down towards his elbow. Thinking quickly, Morgana grabbed one of her old cloaks and threw it on the bed, protecting it from potential blood stains. She went back to the boy. “Is it okay if I pick you up? I want to put you on the bed so you can rest.” 

The boy nodded, so Morgana, as gently as she could, lifted him and carried him over. “You’re being very brave, very brave. I’m going to wash your arm, is that okay? It will probably hurt a bit, but it’s important to keep your cut clean.” There was always a bowl of water in her room so she could wash her face before bed. She dipped a piece of cloth in it and wrung it out, making sure it wasn’t too wet. “Nod when you’re ready. You can hold onto my dress, if you like.” 

The boy grabbed handfuls of her dress and took several deep breaths before nodding his head. Morgana wiped the blood off his arm as gently as she could, trying to talk in a light voice the whole time. She had helped Arthur countless times when they were children and he would fall and hurt himself—the cut on the boy’s arm was much worse than a scraped knee, but she did the best she could. “Alright, deep breath now—” two slightly firmer wipes, hopefully getting most of the dirt out, “—and we’re done!” 

*** 

Gwen found them half an hour later; Morgana was reading a book while the boy slept with his head in her lap. She noticed the cut on the boy’s arm and was glad she had thought to bring the medical salves she kept in her home. 

“So,” she asked, sitting down next to Morgana, “what’s the plan?” 

Morgana shook her head, smiling. “You know I don’t have one.” She shifted a little, turning to face Gwen. “Gwen I… I knew he was coming. In my dream last night, I saw him. I saw him being chased.” 

“Oh, Morgana, I’m sure it was a coincidence.” 

“No!” Morgana, slightly wild-eyed now, grabbed Gwen’s hands. “You don’t understand. I saw _him_ , I saw his face, and his blue cloak, and I knew he was a druid. I knew the dream was in Camelot, I knew he would end up in the courtyard. I could see the shadows and I knew what time of day it was. Its why I asked to go for a walk this morning. I didn’t want to believe it, but I wasn’t about to let him get caught…

“And… and it’s not the first time. That’s what I’ve always said to myself, _oh, its just a coincidence_ , but how many coincidences can one person possibly dream? I’ve had nightmares before Arthur gets battle wounds, and I dreamed of the dragon before it escaped, and sometimes its mundane things like the kind of meat being served for dinner but its _right_ ”

“Oh, Morgana.” Gwen gently untangled Morgana’s hands so she could hold them instead. “You think…?”

Morgana nodded. “I’m terrified it is. You know Gaius’ sleeping draughts have never helped me. And last night… that was the clearest dream I’ve had.” 

Seeing was dangerous, of course. Uther had executed plenty of Seers, but if Morgana only Saw in her dreams, then at least it was easier to hide. 

They weren’t able to discuss it for long, though, because the druid boy woke up. 

“Hello,” Gwen said, turning her attention to him. “My name is Guinevere, but people call me Gwen. Can you tell us your name?” 

He looked at her, considering, but shook his head. 

“That’s alright.” Gwen said. “We’re going to keep you safe here until we can help you get back to the druids, okay?” 

The boy nodded. Gwen and Morgana had no idea where the druids were, but what the boy needed right now was to feel as safe as possible. They could figure out how to get him home later, when he was better rested. Tenn might know where to find the druids—or find someone who knew where they were—but it was too dangerous to visit them. Uther had already declared a hunt for the boy, and execution for the older druid. They couldn’t risk bringing any attention to Tenn by visiting, much less by talking to them about druids. 

*** 

Merlin occupied himself by happily making strawberry preserves. Fucking _amazing_ , right off a spoon.

*** 

Dinner was a horrible, tense affair. Morgana just wanted to get through it and go back to her rooms and avoid any conversation with Uther altogether. 

Arthur seemed to have a different opinion. His spoon clacked against the table as he set it down. “Father, is this search truly necessary? The druid is just a boy, what harm can he do?”

Morgana took another spoonful of her stew. 

“He’s a druid, Arthur, _that’s_ what makes him dangerous. They would see this kingdom destroyed.” 

_I had no idea you were such an authority on druids_ , Arthur thought. “How do we know the boy is even still in Camelot? The searches have turned up nothing. Perhaps he has already escaped.” 

Uther glared at him. “Double your efforts, then. That boy _will_ be found.” 

Morgana couldn’t take it anymore. “Sire, I’m afraid I agree with Arthur. He’s a _child_. Surely execution is too much.” 

“Morgana…” Uther said, warning in his voice.

“Aren’t the druids a peaceful people? What harm could one druid child possibly do?”

“ _His kind_ would see me dead and this kingdom returned to anarchy! Would you have me help them? This boy will only grow stronger and strike against me!”

“Please, sire, I couldn’t live if I saw a child executed.” Morgana’s voice was trembling. She hoped it passed as worry. 

“That… child, Morgana, is an _enemy_. Execution may be harsh, but it is necessary. Now I will hear no more of this.”

Morgana stood, anger starting to show on her face. “Sire—”

“ENOUGH!” Uther yelled, also standing. “I want the boy executed _on sight_ , do you hear me? _The enemy must be eradicated!_ ”

Morgana’s rage flew to the forefront in full force. “What have these people ever done to you,” she said, stomping towards Uther. “ _Why are you so full of hate?_ ”

Uther grabbed her by the neck and shoved her up against his chair. Morgana gasped for breath, but continued to glare at him.

“Morgana, ENOUGH! I’ll not hear another word!”

Morgana spit in his eye. “You disgust me.” 

Uther, face twisted in rage, gripped her neck tighter. Morgana coughed. 

Arthur, shocked by his father’s violence and previously unsure how to support Morgana without angering Uther even further, ran forward. “Father! Father, you’re choking her!” 

Uther, after glaring at Arthur for a moment, finally let go. Morgana slouched, gasping for breath, before standing right back up and glaring at Uther. 

“I take you in, I treat you like a daughter, and this is how you repay me? This is how you _betray_ me? I made a promise to your father that I would protect you. But if you cross me again—if you challenge me in this way again—I will break that promise without a second thought.” 

Uther turned to Arthur, who almost flinched when leveled with the full force of his father’s glare. He’d never seen him quite this angry. “Arthur, I want you to search Morgana’s chambers immediately. If _anything_ suspicious is found, anything about the boy, any further evidence of this… this disgusting magical sympathy, I want her thrown in the dungeons immediately.” 

Behind the two of them, Morgana paled slightly. No, she trusted Arthur. She had to, right now. He didn’t believe Uther’s rhetoric anymore—he’d told her himself. Morgana didn’t care about herself, but as long as Arthur didn’t turn the boy in, she didn’t care. She took a calming breath and walked towards the door, ignoring Uther.

“Well, Arthur? Do you need to be told how to walk?” 

Athur grabbed her arm, but his grip was gentle. It was just for show. As the door closed behind them, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Morgana glanced at his face—it was enraged. 

“If he ever,” he grit his teeth “tries to do anything like that again, so help him god because I will not hold back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW description: this chapter follows Mordred's first episode. Uther is incredibly angry and physically violent towards Morgana, grabbing her neck at one point. The physical violence starts after "Why are you so full of hate?" and ends when Arthur intervenes. 
> 
> I have no idea how old Mordred is but the chapter title? It’s what I wanted to yell at Kilgharrah every time he tried to tell Merlin that Mordred was evil and needed to be killed lol
> 
> The show never explains why kid Mordred doesn’t talk but adult Mordred does. I decided to with some combination of shock/trauma, and the druids help him recover later, but like… who knows.
> 
> Also, Mordred is black in this fic. I know I didn't describe him, but I just... idk I don't describe my characters much, but since the druids are black, I was hoping it was implied that Mordred is, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin is aromantic because I do what I want
> 
> Writing is a matter of momentum to me and I do want to finish this, and I spend at least as much time thinking about it as I do writing it, so lmk if there are any obvious continuity errors and I will fix them (or at least explain them in the comments) because I can't distinguish between a plot point i've written and one i've thought about.


End file.
